


Deep Roots

by ealcynn



Series: A fire shall be woken [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ableist Language, Action/Adventure, Addiction, Angst, Anxiety, Bigotry & Prejudice, Chronic Pain, Council of Elrond, Depression, Drug Abuse, Epic Friendship, Exile, Fellowship being good bros, Fellowship of the Ring, Gaslighting, Gen, Honestly not as dark as it sounds, Hurt Legolas, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury, Murder, Rivendell | Imladris, not Thranduil friendly, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29467689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ealcynn/pseuds/ealcynn
Summary: Winter creeps down from the Misty Mountains. In the Hidden Valley of Rivendell, Frodo and his friends prepare for their forthcoming quest, and the Fellowship of the Ring slowly begins to form. And all the while, an Elven outcast, the murderer known only as Lith, fights for acceptance in a place that reviles him.Sequel to 'All those who wander'.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Legolas Greenleaf, Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel
Series: A fire shall be woken [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087940
Comments: 41
Kudos: 104





	1. 29th November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Aragorn's prompting, Lith meets some of the valley’s other residents and guests. A long-overdue appointment with the healers takes place, but Lith’s previous actions at Rivendell leave him uncertain if he can truly rely on Lord Elrond’s welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is the second part in an AU series. I recommend you read 'All those who wander' first.

* * *

### 29th November 3018

The woods of Imladris were like nowhere else in Middle-earth. Granted, every tree in the world was unique and thus so too was every forest, but none other Lith had yet walked in bore even a passing resemblance to the tranquility and deep wisdom that he sensed here. But though it was beautiful, the land was shrouded, as were so many things, with loss and a slow grief for the passing of the Elves and the times that were now gone and would not come again. The trees were sleepy and growing more so year by year, fading from a song which was once vivid, almost alert, back into a slow, dreamless slumber from which they would not wake again, not once all the Elves had left these shores. That was what Lith missed most in his exile from Elven lands. The trees. These ancient beeches cared not for his crime, for his scars and his unbraided hair, but welcomed him as they had every Elf since they had put down their first roots into the earth hundreds of years ago. His Silvan blood rang with the words of their whispered song and it soothed him in a way that all the herbs in the world could not come close to emulating. 

Although Mithrandir had informed him that there were guest chambers here he could use, the Elf had held no intention of lingering at the House longer than it took to see Aragorn safe and well. He had located the Ranger’s room last night and found him fast asleep, carried away by his pain and illness, and yet still he had remembered to leave out for Lith his dose of _naegranaeth_ along with a note Lith could not decipher. Standing there, watching Aragorn sleep, the thought had briefly passed into Lith's mind that he had done what he had meant to: deliver Aragorn safely home. Now he needed but to find the rest of the herb supply amongst Aragorn's things, and then he could leave. But Lith did not wish to risk disturbing the Ranger, and besides, he knew that he could not leave again without at least biding Gandalf and Bilbo goodbye first. So he swallowed the dose left for him and turned away, climbing back down from the terrace and flitting away into the trees. Lith had spent the night in the branches of a kind-hearted young alder that was growing high in the woods beyond the furthest pavilions of Imladris. The sound of Elven evening song flowed along the valley with the water and left him with strange dreams that echoed in his soul with sound that was bittersweet.

The following morning dawn came with a misty light like liquid copper pouring into the valley over the crests of the mountains. Lith woke to the breathtaking beauty of the sight: cold, hungry and footsore, with pain in his arm and cramp in his hand, but he did not feel as nauseous or shaky as yesterday. Perhaps the side effects of the lower dosage were weakening at last. Despite the increased pain, he certainly felt more refreshed and clear headed than he had for some time, and it made him aware that there were tasks he should see to before he left the valley. His pack was all but empty. It would soon be winter and this would be his last chance to forage amongst the plants and trees here for nuts and berries, twine and sap. There were repairs he needed to make, not least to his crossbow. He did not yet know if it could be fixed or if he must start carving the weapon again from scratch—a daunting prospect. And there was other wear and tear to his clothing and pack; his coat was torn in two places, and when he examined his right boot he found the roughly-stitched leather was worn through, and the cord falling apart. But for now it was such a glorious morning that he stuffed his coat and boots into his pack, put it all from his mind and just let himself _be_ , to soak in this moment in the woods of Imladris. Not trying to survive or flee or search for food, just to exist, and to pretend for a moment that this was somewhere he belonged.

Lith drifted barefoot through the dawning, following the flight of a woodpecker through the trees along the river bank as the sun rose up into the sky, listening to the whisper of the last leaves, scenting the season on the air. He was so focused on the forest around that voices ahead made him startle back to awareness: he darted up into the trees just as two Elf-maidens appeared, walking slowly through the woods on a morning stroll. Lith froze in the branches as they passed below his tree, but they did not look up. Soft singing followed behind them as they went away into the trees. Lith realised then that he had wandered closer to the house than he had intended to. From up in the branches of the grove of beeches all but bare now of their leafy garb, he could see the house as it started to wake. Elves and other folk began to appear through the open archways and porches, wandering along pergolas and looking out of high windows. Then figures were moving around the valley, wandering along green paths to the main halls to break their fast, or out into gardens, stables or workshops, or to any number of other purposes and places that Lith could not imagine. The sight of so many people was a little overwhelming.

He stayed up in the beeches for some time, just listening to the sound of their treesong, to the flow of sap through leaves, the crack of bark, and the draw of water into roots. At length, Mithrandir came out of the house and Lith saw him take up a seat on a stately promenade that connected two of the wide terraces. He was close enough that Lith could scent his pipesmoke on the air. The wizard did little but smoke and read for several hours, but the sight of his old friend put the Elf a little more at ease. He could not imagine coming to harm while Mithrandir was near.

The sun climbed up into the sky as the morning passed, then Lith heard a familiar cough as Aragorn too arrived in the garden where Mithrandir sat. Lith was pleased to see the man looking far more alert and well than he had for several days, and he was walking alone too albeit aided by a pair of wooden crutches. Lith had been afraid for Aragorn's life out in the Wilds but he had recovered well, and quickly too for a mortal man. The much vaunted skills of Lord Elrond in action, no doubt.

The man and the wizard sat together for a while talking, though Lith heard only the murmur of their voices and nothing of their words. At length, Mithrandir went back into the house but Aragorn came down from the promenade, crossed the oval terrace edged by streams and took a trail leading into the woods. Curious, Lith followed through the branches above, although they had not gone far before the man stopped, looking around. Lith heard him cough a few times and then mutter, 

‘So much for “he’ll find you,” Mithrandir. This could take all day.' Aragorn turned around in a slow circle, then called out, uncertainly, 'Lith?'

Lith dropped onto the path right in front of him. The man gave a start and let go of his crutch, reaching for a sword he did not carry.

‘Do not do that!’ Aragorn ordered once he recognised Lith, sounding more than a little flustered. 'I thought you an enemy. If I had been carrying a weapon...’

Lith shrugged, unconcerned. He had already determined that the man was not armed. Instead, the Elf picked up Aragorn’s crutch where it had fallen and handed it back. Aragorn took it. 

'Gandalf was right then, it seems, as usual,' the man said, adjusting the supports. He seemed to have recovered quickly from his alarm and now looked faintly amused. 'He thought you were probably nearby. You did not meet me this morn, and when I saw you had not used your rooms, nor even left your pack there, I feared you had left the valley.' 

Lith shook his head. A robin fluttered past and he turned to watch its flight, moving to follow after it as it fluttered away into the trees. 

A voice called him back. 'Lith, a moment, please,' and he remembered Aragorn was waiting, and came back.

'What happened to your boots?' Aragorn asked, now sounding slightly wary. He coughed.

Lith glanced down at his bare feet, and curled his toes into the moss. He considered for a moment, then said, 'My boot…it is broken.' 

'So you _are_ talking to me,' Aragorn said. 'I thought perhaps you were angry.'

'No,' said Lith, puzzled. 'I am not angry. I have been listening to the trees.’

Aragorn just stared at him, and Lith realised that the man did not understand. Lith knew he had been speaking Sindarin correctly, so perhaps he just needed to explain further.

‘Here, they are very...awake here. It is… harder, afterwards, to think with words.'

Something in Aragorn's expression cleared, as if he had come to a new understanding. 

'You must be hungry,' he said, at last.

Lith nodded but did not answer. Aragorn sighed, and then coughed a few times. 

'It is past noonbell, but there is always something available, particularly when you have many travellers here as your guests, and some of those are hobbits. Follow me.’

‘Why?’

‘To get you some food, of course.’

Aragorn turned and started to limp back to the house. Lith did not want to go into the house, but he _was_ hungry. Very hungry. Lith hesitated. ‘Where do we go?’

‘I’ll show you where the kitchen and parlour is. The main meals are served in the great hall but if you go to the kitchen any time of day or night there will be bread or stew available. Do you have your boots? We can also see the cobbler.’

‘I can fix it myself,’ Lith said, not moving. 

‘There’s no need.

‘I do not have money.’

Aragorn waved a hand. ‘That is no concern. You are a guest here.’

The man began to walk again, and Lith could not help but follow. ‘You cough less,’ Lith said.

'Yes,’ Aragorn acknowledged. ‘The result of your good care on the road, followed by Lord Elrond’s skills with herbs and teas. Within a few days the illness will be entirely passed, I am most grateful to say.’

Aragorn paused as if he had meant to say something else, but then changed his mind. ‘This way,’ he said, and led them back onto the terrace. Lith pulled his hood up to cover his face, and followed.

They wove their way through the sprawling elegance of the house, across open porches and covered walkways, passing statues and arches, cupolas, balconies and staircases all carved of white wood, wreathed in living vines and scattered with fallen leaves. It was achingly beautiful. Aragorn coughed often, but the fits passed quickly and seemed much less debilitating than before. They did not see many Elves as they walked, but those which they did pass stared at Lith with the usual mix of hatred and disgust. He kept close to Aragorn, let his loose hair and his hood hide his face and ignored their looks. He soon wished he had stayed out in the trees, hungry or otherwise.

Beyond the main house they took a side path and wound down, past the stables, to a low terrace where there were several long buildings overlooking a courtyard scattered with fallen leaves. Here there were many more Elves moving too and fro, and Lith could smell furnaces and charcoal and the tang of cloth dye. Aragorn took Lith’s tattered old boots and went into one of the buildings with them while Lith stayed out of sight in the trees, watching the distant horses in the field toss their heads as they ran. His arm throbbed with constant pain that echoed the drumming of their hoofbeats.

At length Aragorn returned and they set off back up the weaving path towards the main house. They came to a long hall set about with narrow pillars and open to the autumn woods on each side. The long tables were mainly empty, although a few folk wandered around or sat in corners, intent upon books or crafts. Aragorn took him through an archway into a smaller parlour and then down a few steps into a wide kitchen. A dozen folk, Elves and men, were working there, preparing vegetables, turning meat or carrying trays of loaves. Someone was singing, softly. Lith hesitated on the stairs; the room was very busy. Aragorn seemed unconcerned and continued down into the kitchen. He approached a small, dark haired Elf. He was presiding over a young woman busy grinding spices in a pestle. 

'Malacar,' Aragorn called, and the Elf turned.

'My Lord Aragorn! We heard you were sick, injured. What happened?'

'Nothing serious, Malacar, as you can see.'

'Have you supped? I can have something prepared for you. Aelben, please lay out a tray, and ale!'

'An ale would be welcome, but I ate earlier with the Lady Arwen, thank you. But Malacar; my friend Lith has not eaten since yesterday and would much appreciate your craft.’ Aragorn turned, and seeing Lith loitering in the shadows on the staircase, beckoned him forward. Lith stepped down into the room, tense and nervous. The stone was cool beneath his bare feet. The butler's eyes fell on him and Lith saw them widen, and the usual look of dismay and horror flickered over Malacar’s face as he noticed the scars on Lith's face and recognised in an instant what they meant.

‘He may be staying with us some time,’ Aragorn was saying. ‘So I would ask that if he comes here, day or night, you will make sure he is fed?'

'But,' Malacar said. He took a step backwards. 'That is the Bodadêldir!'

Someone nearby gasped, and the chatter in the room fell quiet. Two dozen eyes turned on him and Lith tensed, ready for the inevitable; the shouting and hissing, the insults as they drove him out...

'He is,' said Aragorn, evenly. 'And they also must eat. But Lith is a guest here nonetheless, and my friend. Not a week ago he saved my life.'

Malacar seemed to rally himself. Lith saw him straighten up and look to Aragorn again, before he said, unsteadily, 'Yes, my lord. It will be done. Does he require food now?'

'Yes, if you would, Malacar. Thank you.'

Malacar nodded. He cast one last dark look at Lith and then strode away, and to Lith's surprise, that was all. The Elves remained staring but there was no outcry. No curses or insults, kicks or blows. A few moments later a different ellon arrived with a tray. He passed by Lith a little nervously and then carried on up the steps. They followed him out of the kitchen, hearing the whispers begin behind them. The Elf placed the tray on one of the tables in the long hall. He handed a silver tankard from the tray to Aragorn with a bow, shot Lith a familiar look of fear, and vanished back into the kitchens. A few faces in the hall turned to glance at them, but Aragorn just sat, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He cleared his throat, picking up the ale tankard and then gestured to the tray of food. 

‘Eat,’ he said. ‘You are quite safe here.’

Lith sat slowly, sliding off his pack so it rested against the leg of the table, feeling eyes watching them. Aragorn seemed profoundly unmoved by the stares, and the Ranger’s relaxed posture, combined with his empty belly, let Lith at last drag his attention away from the room and instead look to the food. 

He had not been expecting much, some stew perhaps or scraps of bread, but there was a tart of cheese cooked with walnut and blackberries, slices of sweet dried apple, round barley grains cooked with sage and buttery mushrooms, and soft white bread. There was also a cup of red wine, although that Lith placed far away from him. 

He spooned the food into his mouth one-handed, so focussed on forcing himself to eat slowly, alert to the presence of the Elves nearby and tense for any sensation of danger, that he did not realise for a moment that Aragorn had spoken.

‘Sorry?’

‘I asked if the food was to your liking.’

‘Oh,’ said Lith, taking the spoon out of his mouth. ‘Yes, it's very good. Do you want some?’ He held out some bread towards Aragorn, but the man gave a little laugh and waved him away. ‘No, my friend, I ate earlier. It is all yours.’ 

‘Regardless, you are welcome to the wine if you wish for it,’ Lith said, gesturing to the cup. 

‘You do not care for wine?’

Lith shook his head. ‘I hate it,’ he muttered. ‘The smell...’

‘Why?’ Aragorn asked, but Lith did not answer.

Aragorn held out the tankard. 'Do you drink ale?'

Lith nodded. They probably only brewed ale in Imladris for the benefit of visiting mortals, for few Elves thought much of the taste of the beverage, preferring fine wines of old vintages. But Lith had been in many places where, regardless of his own unusual dislikes, gentile Elvish sensibilities meant nothing at all, and he had grown accustomed to the taste of cheap ale and small beer.

'A trade then,' proposed the Ranger, and they swapped wine cup for ale tankard. If Aragorn thought Lith's preference strange he made no further comment, sipping instead the wine with apparent enjoyment.

Lith drank the ale, which was still much finer than he had ever tasted, and ate as much of the food as he could. He took the remaining half the tart and the bread, wrapped the food in a waxed cloth he carried for the purpose, and put it all into his pack for later. Aragorn watched him but said nothing until the task was complete.

When Lith's plate was empty, Aragorn said, ‘I suppose no-one showed you these halls last time you were here.’ 

Lith shook his head. ‘Mithrandir brought me food. To the woods.’

‘Ah. Well, there is no need now to avoid this place, nor to rely on any other. If you speak to Malacar, mealtime or not, he will give you anything you need. Now, are you ready to go?’

Lith nodded, and he stood and followed Aragorn out of the hall, keeping his hood up and his head down. Aragorn led him on through the house and he supposed they were returning to the woods. Lith finally felt at ease enough to broach some of the questions which had been troubling him.

‘Why did you tell him I saved your life?’

‘Who, Malacar? Why, because you did, Lith. I should not have survived that encounter with the deep-wolf without your fortitude.’

‘But you saved me also. Twice.’

Aragorn shrugged. ‘I do not intend to keep score between us. I merely wanted them to know that you were more than what they might think of you.’

Lith pondered that for a moment as they walked into a wide, softly lit hall with elegant arches opening out onto a green sward and a gallery of pale stone above. A passing elf-maid wearing minstrel’s braids offered Aragorn a graceful bow but then saw Lith and stepped back with a gasp, eyes wide and fearful. Lith kept his head down and hurried past her after the Ranger. 

‘‘The Elves here…’ Lith said, softly when the minstrel was out of sight. ‘They hold you in high regard, even though you are not one of them.’

Aragorn looked thoughtful. ‘Well,’ he said slowly. ‘I was Lord Elrond’s ward, which is one reason. They have known me for many years, and know of my lineage. And although Elves are most prevalent here, there are many residents and visitors of other kinds, and Elrond welcomes all.’

Lith nodded, and lowered his voice again. ‘Lord Elrond,’ he said, uneasily, kneading at the pain in his wrist with his fingers. ‘He should not have used my name, not in front of his people. It could be dangerous--’

‘Let Elrond worry about that,’ Aragorn said. ‘He is wiser than both of us combined and no doubt had good reason to do what he did. But you may ask him yourself if you wish; we are nearly at his library.’

Lith stopped dead, panic flaring suddenly into life. ‘Why?’

Aragorn paused in his step. ‘He wishes to meet you, of course. There was little chance for a civil greeting yesterday. And there is your injury also; once he has been able to assess it, he may be able to suggest treatments that--’

Lith was already shaking his head and backing away, holding his forearm, tightly. ‘I cannot,’ he said. ‘I--’

‘Lith.’ Aragorn spoke quietly but with firmness. ‘I know that you are afraid, my friend, and that this is asking much of you. But I wish you no harm or ill. All I want is to see you whole and healthy, and able to live free of the grip of pain or _naegranaeth._ And though I am a good field healer, you need real Elvish medicine. If any in Middle-earth can help you, it is Elrond. I know you must find it difficult to trust his intentions, but I promise you Elrond seeks only to lessen your suffering. Whatever your past deeds, he is not interested in punishing you further. Will you at least come and speak with him?’

Lith remained frozen, torn between hope and fear, shackled by the lessons that had been painfully learned. Elves rightly feared him and hated him; they meant him nothing but ill, and any suggestion of help was a cruel illusion. But Mithandir and Aragorn both trusted Elrond, did they not? And really, what did he have to lose? Very slowly, he breathed out, and nodded. 

Aragorn gave a small, relieved smile. ‘Very well. Thank you. I know this is difficult. Do you wish to wait here for a moment, and catch your breath? I will see if Elrond is within, and if this is a good time for him to meet with us.’

Lith nodded again. Aragorn gave him an encouraging smile and then turned, heading up the hall and through a distant archway out of sight. Lith slid his pack off his shoulders and sat down on a nearby stone bench that overlooked the curving hall, flanked by graceful statues of armoured maidens with swords held high. Lith curled forwards, holding his bad arm tightly. Could he really dare to hope that Lord Elrond would, or could, help him? It was forbidden by every covenant of Elvish law to aid a Bodadêldir. But so too was it forbidden to give them sanctuary, or call them by a name, and Elrond had done both yesterday, before half a dozen of his people. Last time Lith had been here, he had been able to stay all but unnoticed out in the woods until the Council, but since Elrond had acknowledged him, a full day and a night had passed. All the residents must be aware of the outcast in their midst by now, and they had not yet revolted against his presence, or driven him from their land. Lith had been taught young that the Ñoldor were an arrogant and self-important race, obsessed with rule and heritage, and who hungered for war. They viewed the Sindar, he had been told, as unenlightened, rash fools of lesser birth, and Silvan-elves they deemed as little better than wild creatures, uncivilised and uncouth, without crafts or learning or even a written language to call their own. Could his view of the Ñoldor be just as flawed?

Lulled by the rush of the falls beyond the long windows and the distant murmur of Elven song, Lith was startled from his thoughts by the sound of voices approaching. They were close, and he could tell neither was Aragorn returning. For all the acknowledgement that he had been left in peace until now, Lith had no desire to be found here alone by Elves of the household. Without Aragorn or Mithrandir to vouch for him, what might their revulsion and hatred led them to do? But even as he stood, intending to hide or to flee, it was too late. 

A hobbit and Dwarf came in through an archway on his left. The hobbit glanced at Lith as if to politely greet a passer-by, then suddenly he stopped walking and began instead beaming with delight.

‘Hullo Lith! Well, this _is_ a delightful surprise!’ 

Bilbo Baggins trotted over and Lith tensed for a moment, thinking he was about to be hugged, but Bilbo just gave him a pat on the leg instead and a broad smile. Lith ghosted his hand over the hobbit’s curly hair in return and managed a little twitch of a smile. Though he had seen Bilbo here not one month ago, he was again dismayed by the signs of age that Bilbo bore; hair that had been acorn brown when Lith had first met him was faded to white, his face was lined like old creased parchment and a walking stick was in his hand. The way a mortal’s body began to decay even while they still breathed had always been a source of dismay and horror to Lith. But Bilbo’s inquisitive eyes were no less bright than they had ever been. 

Lith looked next to the Dwarf that accompanied Bilbo. He had a mass of wiry dark red hair and a long beard all knotted with silver clasps, a tunic the colour of old wine, a bronze belt and great black boots tipped with iron. He may have been one of the young dwarves at the Council of Elrond, but then again he might not. Lith was not familiar enough with Dwarves to be able to say.

‘I had no idea you were back in Imladris, my lad,’ Bilbo said, then saw the direction of Lith’s attention. “Oh, yes, you two haven’t really met apart from that whole business at the Council, have you?’

‘We have not _met_ , no,’ said the Dwarf. His voice when he spoke sounded like the rumbling of deep water beneath the earth. When he looked Lith up and down the Elf saw his eyes were bright like hot coals.

“Well, we’d better sort that out right away. Lith, this is Gimli, who is an excellent fellow and son of my old friend Gloin. He has just been catching me up on all the news from Erebor and Dale. Gimli, this is Lith, who used to go about with Gandalf and visited me in Hobbiton every now and again.’

The dwarf stepped forward. Though most of his face was hidden behind the braids of his beard, Lith thought he now looked unsettled, as if the very task of greeting Lith was distasteful. Still, the Dwarf said, gruff but quite polite, ‘At your service, Master Elf,’ and bowed.

Lith froze at the epithet. It took him too long to remember to bow back and even when he did he knew his motions must have looked stiff and unfriendly. In comparison to the Dwarf's finery, Lith was suddenly very aware of his bare feet and muddy, tattered clothing.

‘Gandalf told me you had gone off again, after the Council,’ the old hobbit chattered on, seeming oblivious to Lith’s discomfort or the Dwarf’s irritation. ‘After those other Wood-elves were so frightfully rude, well, I can’t say I blame you. But they’ve gone home back to Mirkwood now, and I hope they remember their manners on the way! Are you staying long this time?’

Lith managed a little, helpless shrug. He looked at the Dwarf Gimli again, and he was frowning, displeased. 

‘And from where do you hail, Master Elf?’ Gimli said, planting his feet and tucking his thumbs into his belt. ‘What is your business here? I don’t believe that was mentioned at the Council.’

Lith knew not what to say, but even if he had, his tongue had cleaved to his mouth again as it often did when distress, fear and pain overwhelmed him, or he lost himself in the woods or too deeply in his own thoughts. He had been but one day in Imladris, and every moment he was tense, ready for rejection, for attack, draining his strength. So he said nothing, could not, even if he had wanted to, and in front of him the Dwarf narrowed his eyes at what must have seemed like rudeness. Lith felt his heart pulse heavy in his chest and throb into his arm, and his stomach churned at the thought he had caused yet more offence. When would Aragorn be back?

‘Oh, we’re not supposed to talk about where Lith is from,’ said Bilbo, airily. 'There is some law or other. But he must have travelled to almost every corner of Middle-earth by now I should think! You shall have to tell me some of your tales later, my lad.’ 

'So, is it just Dwarves he will not speak to?' Gimli growled, sounding insulted. ‘Or has he taken some dislike to this Dwarf in particular?’

'Come, Gimli; you mustn't take offence where none is intended.' Bilbo said. 'Lith does not always talk, you see. It’s just his way. Isn't that right?’

Lith managed a tiny nod.

‘He used his voice well enough at Elrond’s Council,’ said the Dwarf, still raised in ire. Lith stepped back, unconsciously. His back touched the wall.

‘It comes and goes, I think,’ Bilbo said, mildly. 

‘Why?’ said the Dwarf, his tone starting to turn more towards curiosity than anger. 'Does he bear some old injury?’

‘You know, I’m not sure,’ said Bilbo. ‘Gandalf probably knows. But Lith, my lad, what happened to your shoes? For it’s certainly not the custom of Elves to go around unshod!’

Lith glanced down at his feet: bare, muddy and scratched as they were. He doubted it was the custom for Elves to go around unbraided, unwashed, and in cast-off mannish clothing either, but he knew those too were features of his present appearance, never mind the twigs in his hair. He hugged his ruined arm tightly to his chest.

Bilbo chuckled. ‘We’ll make a hobbit of you yet, my lad,’ he said, kindly, and gave Lith’s knee another pat. ‘Now, I was on my way to the Hall of Fire; they will be ringing the dinner bell in a few hours and I want to do some thinking before Frodo and the others come back. Those young fellows have gone walking up in the pine-woods this afternoon. I know you don’t love indoor places, Lith, so come find me on the terraces by the great oak after dinner one day and Frodo—he’s my heir, you know—will be very pleased to meet you at last.’

Lith gave another nod, and the old hobbit beamed. 

Then, at last, he heard the sound he had been aching to hear; a familiar, muffled cough and the tap-tap of wood on stone. They all turned to see Aragorn returning down the hall, and at his side was the imposing, stately figure of the Lord of Rivendell, Elrond Halfelven. The burst of courage which had held Lith firm under the lord's gaze in the courtyard yestereve was long gone now, and he would have fled if the hobbit and Dwarf had not been blocking his way. But there was nothing to be done because just a moment later the two newcomers arrived. Elrond swept his eyes across the trio and Lith tried not to quail beneath his stern and erudite gaze.

Bilbo seemed entirely unmoved by the arrival of the imposing lord for he had eyes only for the state of Aragorn. ‘Dúnadan!’ he cried, looking Aragorn up and down, taking in his crutches and his pallor. ‘Dúnadan, my dear fellow, what on earth have you been up to? You barely just arrived here with Frodo, and you were well enough at Elrond’s Council!’

‘An encounter with a rather persistent wolf,’ Aragorn said with a smile, and he cast a lightning fast glance over Lith, though the Elf knew not what he looked for. ‘I was fortunate that I had a friend with me. But never mind ‘just arrived’, Master Baggins; since the Council, I have been away on a journey for some weeks.’

‘Weeks?’ said Bilbo, with amazement. 

‘If you look up from your books every now and again, little master, you will see it is nearly the end of November,’ said Lord Elrond. He seemed faintly amused by something.

‘Well, there’s a strange thing. But then, time does pass differently here in Rivendell.'

It does indeed, Master Baggins,' agreed the Dwarf Gimli, who seemed to have decided to ignore Lith entirely. ‘And, meaning no offence, Master Elrond, but most unnatural it seems too. I feel like I arrived here not a day ago myself. But today, at least, the day will be marked by new meetings.’ Gimli turned to Aragorn. 'We have not been introduced except in passing. Gimli Gloinsson,' he said, with a deep bow. 'At your service. But no need to ask your lineage, at least! If I heard aright at the Council you are the one they call the Heir of Isildur, and Heir of all the Kingdoms of Men! I trust you have not also lost your tongue.' Gimli shot Lith one more dark look.

Aragorn didn’t react to the last comment, and merely returned the bow. 'At yours and your family's,' he said, formally. 'But just _Aragorn_ will do, Master Dwarf.'

Bilbo snorted. 'The Dúnadan has more names than a hobbit has hairs on his feet.’ 

Aragorn gave Bilbo an affectionate pat on the shoulder and then looked to Gimli. ‘Your father did not also remain in Imladris, Gimli?’

‘Nay,' said the Dwarf. ‘Most of my kinsmen decided to set out last week, for it is a long journey and there is much to do in Erebor.’

Bilbo nodded. ‘Gloin is a capital fellow and though he had to go home I am glad to have young Gimli here instead. He is excellent company. He has been catching me up on all the news from the Mountain. You know Bofur has five children now? Five! I must make some notes for my book before I forget it all.’

‘A fine endeavour,’ Aragorn said, gravely. ‘But I gather that you did not just remain here just to help Master Baggins with his book, Gimli.’

'No, indeed! While my people have troubles enough of our own, it was clear from the talk at the Council that the worst perils are yet to come, and this treasure of the enemy is the cause and will be right at the thick of it. Thus I have offered my services to Lord Elrond in this the venture of the Ring, at least as far as the mountains.’

‘And I have accepted them,’ Elrond said. ‘It is just that each of the Free Peoples should have a part to play in this great mission.’

‘When the ring travels south,’ Gimli said to Aragorn, ‘I shall go with you and Gandalf, and my axe shall clear your way.'

‘You and your axe are most welcome,’ said Aragorn, but Lith had stopped listening because he had finally realised what all this talk meant. Aragorn and Mithrandir were leaving Imladris. He did not know where they would go, or when, but he feared that all too soon two of those he cared most for in this forsaken world would leave him, travelling into a danger and darkness that he could barely comprehend. He understood enough to know what was at stake if the ring was not kept hidden; darkness would devour light and life and all green and growing things. He knew he mattered nothing, particularly in contrast to such great matters. But for a moment all he could think was that he was going to be without them once again. 

When he next was paying attention, Bilbo and the Dwarf Gimli were bidding Aragorn and Elrond good day and heading away down the hall the way he and Aragorn had come. The Dwarf cast a dark look back over his shoulder at Lith before they rounded the curve of the pergola and were out of sight.

Aragorn touched Lith’s shoulder, lightly. He looked up into the man’s concerned grey eyes. 

‘Are you well, my friend?’ Aragorn softly asked. Lith just nodded, mutely.

Lord Elrond stood a few paces further off. He was lordly and elegant, poised in layered robes of midnight blue and slate grey velvet, his hands clasped behind his back. Lith could not read his expression.

‘If you would both like to follow me,’ Elrond said, and then turned and glided away towards a distant archway. Aragorn nodded at Lith, encouragingly, and so Lith started to follow. He could hear the tap of Aragorn’s crutches behind.

Elrond led them through quiet halls lined with bookcases and writing slopes, and many scrolls and maps, into a large open chamber whose arched windows looked out across a great cascade of water that hung like a silver curtain across the valley. The room smelled of herbs and clean linen. Seven or eight raised beds were set around the walls. Two were perhaps occupied, hidden by curtains, and three other Elves were moving around the room, carrying ewers or cloth. All three turned to stare at Lith as they entered, although Elrond acknowledged them only with a nod, and did not pause, sweeping on through the room and out into another smaller chamber beyond. Here, the shelves and drawers that lined the walls were filled with jars of dried herbs, seeds and ground minerals. Living plants cascaded from wall sconces, and the open windows looked west across the bare trees. Lith had been here before only once, when he had crept in to steal the _naegranaeth_. He froze in the doorway, guilt suddenly overwhelming every other sense and emotion. Elrond and Aragorn seemed not to have noticed. 

‘If both of you would please sit,’ said the Elf-lord, moving around the room. ‘I believe we have much to discuss, and I would also see to your various ills. Have you both eaten this day?’ 

‘We came straight from the dining halls,' Aragorn answered.

Elrond nodded, and reached for a small bell. ‘I will send Berianar for some wine.’

'I think we would prefer tea, if it is all the same to you?’ asked Aragorn, moving to the fireplace to put the kettle on its stand. 

‘Of course,’ Elrond said, seamlessly. He set down the bell without sounding it, and instead reached for a shelf of teas. ‘What would you--’

‘I am sorry!’

The words blurted out of Lith before he could hold them back. The others turned to look at him.

‘For what, young one?’ asked Elrond, setting down the teapot. 

‘For the theft of your herbs,’ Lith murmured, surprised that guilt had loosened his tongue when fear had not. He clutched his wrist, tightly. ‘I did not want to steal, but I was angry and desperate. I am sorry.’ He forced his chin up and his back straight. ‘I will submit to any punishment you ordain.’

‘Your apology is accepted,’ Elrond said, slowly, consideringly. ‘Perhaps Mithrandir did not explain to you the rules of this house on your last visit, so I will do so now. It is not our way here in Imladris that any should go wanting. Those without will always find food and shelter here. There is a room and a bed put aside for you, and if you have need of healing, clothing, or footwear while as my guest, those too can all be provided. You may even bathe, if you wish.’ He gave Lith a pointed look. ‘But our hospitality is not weakness, and I do not tolerate those that abuse it. Anything you require, you need only ask myself, Mithrandir or Aragorn. You will not help yourself from my stores, nor steal from the other guests. Is that clear?’

Lith nodded, feeling his face tight with shame. ‘I understand. I will submit to punishment.’

‘I have no interest in seeking punishment,’ Elrond said. ‘I wish only to be confident that the matter need not arise again. Your apology and word of good conduct will satisfy me.’ 

‘But I violated your hospitality.’ Lith pointed out. ‘I stole from Elfkind. Retribution is just.’

Elrond and Aragorn glanced at each other.

‘What punishment would you deem fit for such a transgression?’ Aragorn asked. 

Lith paused, taken aback. ‘I am not familiar with Ñoldorin laws,’ he said. ‘A lashing, or confinement to the cells, I suppose.’

‘A _lashing?’_ said Aragorn, and to Lith’s surprise he sounded quite alarmed. Elrond raised a hand, stalling whatever he would have said next. 

‘Aragorn, I believe the water has heated sufficiently,’ the Elf-lord said. ‘Would you mind seeing to the tea?’

Aragorn nodded and moved to obey, and Elrond turned then to Lith. ‘We have no dungeon here,’ he said, quietly. ‘And unlike the lands of men I do not demand physical harm in sentence for the theft of a handful of herbs. If you insist that a recompense must be made, then your punishment is this. Sit, and tell me why you needed the _naegranaeth,_ and what became of the herb supply you took from here? It can be dangerous if used improperly.’ 

Lith opened his mouth, then closed it again. He sat down in the seat indicated, opposite the Elf-lord; it looked out across the open arch window to the distant falls. The moss green rug on the floor was soft under his bare heels. Elrond’s face still looked stern and grave. 

‘Aragorn has it,’ Lith said at last.

Aragorn nodded. He finished filling the teapot, set the kettle back on the fire, and then reached into a pocket. He handed the leather pouch to Elrond, who looked inside. His eyebrows raised. 

‘Less than half remains,’ he said, gravely. ‘You have used all the rest since you were last here?’

Lith curled forwards and dropped his gaze. His fingers fluttered over the smooth dark wood of the chair arm, finding a texture of trailing ivy leaves carved there. His throat tried to close up again, but when he raised his eyes there was no condemnation on the faces before him. 

‘I am not trying to shame you, nor cast judgement,’ Elrond said. ‘But I need to know what has occurred so that I can seek a remedy. Now, if you are uncomfortable speaking before us I can send for another; Mithrandir perhaps--’

‘No, please! Mithrandir does not know. I do not want him to know. Please, I beg you my lord, tell him nothing of this. I--’

‘Breathe, elfling,’ Elrond said. ‘It is not an easy thing to conceal anything from a wizard, but I promise that if he hears of this, it shall not be from Aragorn nor I unless you permit it. Now, this injury. It is to your arm?’ He readied a sheet of parchment and dipped a quill, ready to note down Lith’s answers perhaps.

Lith nodded, slowly. ‘I…’ he said. ‘My arm hurts.’

‘After what kind of movement?’

Lith said nothing.

‘A constant pain, then. So you take numbing herbs?’

‘Not every day,’ Lith said, hasily. ‘I can bear it. It is not so bad. But sometimes, when the weather turns or I have to use my hand too much to cut wood or do farm work, it can be…Herbs help, sometimes, when I cannot sleep or think. Aragorn knows of it.’ 

‘I learned of the wound and the herb use a few weeks past,’ Aragorn said as he stirred honey into the tea, and passed a cup to each of them. ‘In the last few days at Lith’s request I have been doing what I can to help.’

Lith took the stoneware mug he was offered and curled both thin hands around the warm ceramic. The subtle heat soothed the ache in his palm. After a moment he sipped; the tea tasted like heather honey and camomile.

‘Now can you describe the nature of the pain? What is its source?’ Even as Elrond spoke the quill kept up its scratching. Lith looked between the man and the Elf-lord, eyes wide.

Elrond waited a moment, and then said, ‘Or perhaps you could tell me more about the numbing herbs. How long have you been taking them?’

Lith opened his mouth and then closed it again. He looked at Aragorn once more. Could the man not tell of it instead? Could Lith not be spared this humiliation a second time? Elrond followed his gaze, and then with infinite patience, said, ‘Aragorn, perhaps if you could speak then of what you know of this, that would be a good place to start?’

‘I will tell what I know, though it is not very much,’ Aragorn said, and then after waiting for Lith’s nod, continued. ‘Although I had previously observed Lith bore a wound, I only learned of the extent of the injury, chronic pain, and herb use after an incident at the river at Tandoliant. Lith leapt into the flood waters to rescue two children, and while pulling him from the river, I unintentionally exacerbated the arm injury; an old cut, poorly healed. When I saw him using _naegranaeth_ I confronted Lith about it and he later showed me the wound which I treated with salves for inflammation. I believe Lith has been using such herbs for so long that he has built up an immunity to their effects but also a dependency on them. I have been trying to help Lith lower his consumption of the pain-bite for several days. But I'm afraid my own illness distracted me from his care.'

‘I see,’ Elrond said, writing quickly. 'What dosage?'

'One half-spoon each evening, after food.' 

‘I took too much,’ Lith said, suddenly.

Elrond put down his quill. ‘Do you speak generally or of a specific incident?’ 

‘After we fought the _brôgaraf_ and she knocked me down. My arm was trapped under me. It was...very painful. I needed just a few moments of relief but nothing worked. I took more than I meant to.’

Elrond nodded, slowly. He still did not look angry, even at this confession of weakness. 

‘What happened after that?’

‘Aragorn made me walk around, for hours, drink and eat and not sleep until the drug had worn away. Then I gave up to him all of the _naegranaeth_ that I had, for safe-keeping.’

‘I understand.’ said Elrond, and then, very gently, he added, ‘Was it only because of the physical pain that you took to much of the herb? Or were you hoping not to wake again?’

Lith flinched. His right hand went to the arm of the chair, fingers tapping over the carvings once more. ‘I do not know,’ he whispered. ‘I do not wish to talk about it.’

‘Very well,’ Elrond said, without judgement or censure. ‘We will discuss it further at another time’. 

He stood, went across the room, and returned the packet of _naegranaeth_ to the small drawer where Lith had taken it from a month ago. ‘Aragorn is correct that the substance can be most addictive and we must be careful lowering your dependency, but you may both be reassured that in an Elf its potency will quickly weaken. Have you experienced side effects since you began to reduce your use?’

‘Sickness,’ Lith said. ‘Headaches. My skin crawls; it has been impossible to sleep.’

‘And now?’

‘Less so now. The effects wear off.’

‘Did you sleep last night?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good,’ said Elrond. ‘We will continue with the present course of treatment, then. I will measure your dose for you each evening and have it sent to your talan. In one of the Eldar, I think it will not be more than a week before you are free of the physical dependency. Then we need only to address your mind’s need and reduce the cause of the herb use in the first place: your injury and the pain it causes.’

Lith swallowed, and looked down. For a moment he had been optimistic: a week to be free of the reliance on the pain-bite, and fewer side effects too. But his arm could never be healed, and he knew all too soon he would be back where he started. 

‘Well then,’ the Elf-lord said. ‘Let us see what we are dealing with,’ and he reached out for Lith’s bad arm. Although the movement wasn’t sudden, lost as he was in his dark thoughts, it took Lith by surprise and he panicked. He jerked the limb away and darted back out his seat; the chair tipped back with a crash and his tea mug fell to the floor and rolled away, spilling dark fluid across the boards like blood. Lith was halfway to the window when he heard Aragorn say, ‘Lith, wait! Please.’

Lith paused by the sill, but when Elrond stepped closer he couldn’t help but cringe back as if expecting a blow. It was still hard, sometimes, to suppress those old instincts, particularly now he was amongst Elves again for the first time and face to face with Lord Elrond, with his undeniable authority and aura of banked power. 

But Elrond did not lash out in anger at Lith’s disrespect. Instead, both Elrond and Aragorn were being very still. Aragorn said, ‘All is well, my friend. You are in no danger here.’

Slowly, Elrond raised his hands and brought them out wide, keeping his movements easy and unthreatening. ‘Lith,’ the Elf-lord said, and the sound of the name from Elven lips was so strange. ‘You know we are not going to harm you.’

Lith swallowed, and nodded, looking down. His hand rested on the sill; the open window was right at his back. 

‘Whatever you may believe, or have been told,’ Elrond continued in the same even tone. ‘I want nothing but for your pain to be eased. I should have explained the action I was about to take more fully, and for that I apologise. I am sure that there are methods or treatments I can offer that will bring relief to your pains, but I will do nothing without your consent. To that I will give my oath.’

Lith nodded a little, to show he understood. His gaze darted to Aragorn again. 

‘I can see you need a moment to gather your thoughts,’ Elrond said. ‘Today I wish only to examine your arm and determine the cause of your pain. You may take time to consider if that is something you agree to while I check the healing on Aragorn’s leg. I deem he has been walking on it much this day and may have exacerbated the stitches.’

‘You may be right,’ Aragorn acknowledged with a sigh. 'The wound has been troubling me.’ Then, their attention was on him no longer. Elrond turned to a nearby table, gathering up rolls of clean dressings and salves, while Aragorn righted Lith’s vacated chair and rescued his mug. Then Aragorn sat beside Elrond, raising his foot up on a low stool so the healer could access the injury. 

Lith stayed by the window as Elrond worked to remove linen dressings and then clean the stitched wolf-bite. The pair spoke softly, and at length they even asked the occasional question of Lith about the events of their journey, his observations on the weather or details of the wolf’s behaviour. Slowly Lith found his fear and alarm dissipating, and at length he could answer aloud once more. 

When Aragorn’s leg wound was redressed once again—and it was indeed looking far better than when Lith had last seen it swollen and oozing bloody pus—Elrond finally turned to Lith. 

‘Now,’ he said. ‘Would you permit me to examine the wound you bear? I will not touch it unless you first give your permission.’

Lith ducked his head, but said nothing. He clutched his left arm tightly, feeling the cramp and the ache. Lith glanced over at Aragorn.

‘Do you wish for me to leave?’ Aragorn said quietly. 

Lith quickly shook his head. ‘Stay?’ he said. ‘Please.’

Aragorn nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said, and then stood carefully. ‘First I will ask Berianar for water. I could use some more tea, I think.’

Elrond turned to Lith. ‘Come, sit here by the light, if you would. I will need you to take off your coat and your glove.’

Lith approached, reluctantly, and perched on the very edge of the seat Aragorn had just vacated. He pulled off his hood, and then slipped out of his old grey wool coat, bundling the garments up on his lap. The long glove he wore on that arm came away last. Aragorn returned carrying a ewer and filled the kettle by the fireplace again. He was a comforting presence in the room. 

Lord Elrond was now sitting directly opposite Lith, leaning in. He did not reach for Lith’s arm straight away this time, but asked, ‘This wound that you bear. It is not recent, I gather?’

‘No,’ said Lith, softly. 

‘How long have you borne it?’

‘I do not know.’

‘But it has worsened recently.’

‘Yes. A little.’

‘Can you tell me the original circumstances by which the injury occured?’

Lith shook his head immediately, then panicked slightly. He wondered if the refusal would anger the Elf-lord. 

‘That is fine,’ said Elrond. His voice was unchanged, and there was no still anger in it. ‘Will you permit me to examine the wound now?’

It took a long moment for Lith to build up every scrap of courage he had, but at last he nodded. When Elrond gently took Lith’s wrist and extended his arm out before him, Lith closed his eyes and breathed deep, but he didn’t pull away. 

Elrond carefully rolled up the sleeve of Lith’s worn, old shirt, and then peeled away the old bandages beneath. Lith kept his eyes closed so that he would not have to see the Elf-lord’s reaction. Elrond, however, gave even less of an observable response to the state of his scarred wrist than had Aragorn. He merely turned the limb carefully from side to side as if observing it from all angles. At last he said:

‘May I touch?’ 

Lith just nodded again, though he was still tense as a bow string. Suddenly Aragorn was stepping closer, and the comforting smell of honey and camomile rose up as more tea was poured. As the cup was placed on the table beside him, Aragorn said, ‘So it would seem you know our Master Baggins, Lith.’ 

Lith opened his eyes and glanced over at the man, confused by the sudden question. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘A little.’

‘And Gimli too?’ Aragorn asked, just as Lith felt Elrond’s fingers rest on the ruined skin of his arm. He flinched but didn’t pull away.

‘No, not the Dwarf. I do not know him.’

‘How did it come to pass that you have met Bilbo before?’ Aragorn continued. ‘That I would be most interested to know.’

‘Mithrandir took me,’ Lith explained, after a deep breath. ‘After the fire, at Staddle.’ Aragorn was still watching him encouragingly, so Lith continued. ‘I was not well—the smoke. Mithrandir knew of a friendly place, close by, that he said we could go to until I was recovered.’

Elrond’s thumb pushed into a painful knot of scars below his wrist. Lith flinched again and the Elf-lord murmured an apology. 

Aragorn asked, ‘So you went with him to Hobbiton?’ 

Lith nodded, and breathed raggedly. ‘Yes. Bilbo was very kind.’

‘Do you know Frodo also, then?’

‘No. I went back to the Shire a few times again after, but I did not meet any other. I am glad Bilbo lives here in safety.’

Elrond recalled Lith’s attention then, asking him to comment on the sensation as he touched parts of Lith's hand and fingers. Lith complied, feeling his agitation fade. The examination continued for a while longer but at last Elrond seemed to have finished.

‘The wound is quite grievous,’ he said. ‘It pains me just to look at it; I cannot imagine how it feels to bear.’

‘It is not enjoyable,’ said Lith, relieved that the ordeal was over, but surprising himself with the bitterness of his own reply. He tugged his sleeve down again to cover the ugly sight of his arm and tucked the limb in against his ribs. He felt rung out and exhausted beyond words. It was clear from Elrond’s grave expression that he had not good news. For all that Aragorn had pushed Lith to seek help, he had not truly expected any positive outcome, and yet somehow the disappointment still stung. 

Elrond sighed. ‘I wish I could give you better news but I cannot undo what has been done here. The tendons have been damaged beyond repair, I suspect many vessels and nerves are severed. Even if I had treated the wound when it was new I do not think I could have restored their full function. I am sorry.’

Lith nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said, and made to rise. 

‘Wait,’ Elrond said. ‘Wait, Lith, I have not finished. I cannot return the mobility and strength of your arm to how they were before you were harmed. But I did not say that I cannot improve them. Left untreated, the tissues have knotted poorly as they have mended, and this is causing much of the weakness and pain you suffer. I believe I can remove the scar tissue and encourage some of the flesh back into something more like the proper form. You will not find your left arm as strong as the right, but I believe you will find it better than at present.’

Lith stilled. ‘How?’

Elrond said, ‘There will be a number of surgeries, tissue treatments and a process of healing. This may take several weeks. Then I will devise a program of exercises to build your strength and motion. I would propose to begin as soon as possible. Today, if you are willing.’

For a moment Lith actually considered it. Treatment, healing. A permanent relief from the pain. Then the impossibiliy of it all came flooding back. ‘It is forbidden,’ Lith said, and even in his own ears his voice sounded hollow. ‘You cannot help me. It is forbidden.’

‘I care nothing for such pronouncements,’ Elrond said. ‘And I am beholden to no laws but the will of the Valar and my own council. There are obligations which are more sacrosanct than the law of man or Elf. Compassion, mercy, forgiveness. That is where true justice lies. Your punishment of exile is enough, more than enough; you do not deserve also to be condemned to an eternity of lingering pain. I will put that right if I can. If you will let me but try.’

‘But I am Bodadêldir,’ Lith replied, his voice coming too loudly. He felt tearful, almost panicked. ‘You should throw me from this house, curse me, and cast me out! I am evil! I do not understand why you would do this. I do not understand!’ 

‘Lith,’ Elrond said, soft and very patiently. ‘Look at me.’ 

Lith raised his head slowly and looked up at the revered Elf-lord, so blindingly bright in his majesty and compassion, and at his right hand was Aragorn.

Then Elrond spoke, grave and earnest. ‘I am old. I have seen lands fall and oceans rise, great armies break apart like water on rock, and towering cities crumble to the dust of ruin. I have seen evil, true evil, spawned for nothing but cruelty and malice, but I have also been there when seeds of doubt twisted into a canker of hate, bringing the hearts of once noble Elves and men to corruption. I have loved those who let their love of light drive them into a darkness of their own making from which there was no escape. I know evil. _You are not it_. Whatever your past actions were, something more than malice drove them; of that I am certain. You do _not_ deserve this pain.’

Lith hung his head down and stared at his forearm where it lay in his lap. He clenched his hand tight, and felt the weakness in his fingers, the unrelenting pain that throbbed down into what felt like the bone itself. Was this truly his penance? Could there be another way?

Aragorn said, ‘Think of it like this. Does your suffering undo what you did?’

Lith hesitated, and then he shook his head. 

‘Then choose to be free of it.’

Lith stared at his hand for a long time. ‘All right,’ he said, at last, looking up. ‘Yes. I want to be healed. I chose this.'

Elrond smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very pleased to be able to roll straight into the sequel from All those who wander. It has been very strange for me to suddenly find myself back in Middle-earth after a hiatus of over a decade, but I'm really enjoying this series so far.  
> I'm hoping to stick to a weekly posting schedule, but there are still several chapters of this still to be written so I shall see how far along I get with it.
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who lets me know they have enjoyed this with kudos or comments, they really do mean the world.


	2. 30th November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Elrond begins to treat Lith’s old wounds, Aragorn and Arwen consider who might be chosen to accompany the ringbearer on his quest. At Gilraen’s memorial, Aragorn and Lith discover another commonality between them, but this time there is no comfort in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: see tags and end notes.

### 30th November 3018

At the end of it all, once they had finally persuaded Lith to agree to Elrond's treatment, it was decided that they would wait until the following day to begin the first surgery rather than attempt any treatment that day. Elrond wished to consult some medical texts, and Aragorn thought it wise to let Lith have some hours to become more at ease with being in Imladris and with the concept of the healing care they proposed. Though he had recovered quickly after the sudden fear that had almost sent the Elf fleeing from the house, Lith still seemed somewhat agitated. The treatment would be more comfortable and effective if he was calm. 

Elrond had made another comment about baths before they had left the healing rooms, this time in the context of ensuring the wound was clean before the interventions began, so Aragorn decided that should probably be their next step. Taking the quiet Lith with him, Aragorn headed along the valley past the white beech pagoda and along a winding path of grey stone towards the baths. Natural hot springs here bubbled up through the rock and, over millennia, the water had shaped the stone into half a dozen deep basins. Elven artistry had added elegant arches amongst the trees and stone seats below the water line. Aragorn could of course have suggested Lith had hot water brought to his own room, as Aragorn had done. It would have saved them both a walk and Aragorn was already growing tired. But given his friend seemed ill at ease indoors and had a clear preference for natural places, the springs must be considered the better option. The one downside was that this was a popular location, but the dinner bell had rung as they were leaving the house, so there was a good chance the baths would be largely unoccupied at this time.

When they arrived, the evening lamps were lit, glowing in the steam rising off the pools. The air smelled of earthy minerals and fallen leaves. There were a few figures to be seen through the mist but none who seemed to pay them any particular regard. Lith peered around in that odd, birdlike manner of his, though his eyes were bright with interest. Aragorn showed him the rock cut shelves where dry towels and blocks of soap were to be found, and then directed him towards an unoccupied pool. Normally Aragorn would have relished the opportunity to make use of the waters himself, but Elrond had only just redressed his leg wound and would be displeased if Aragorn were to wet the stitches again and undo his hard work. The man instead retired to a stone bench where he could rest and wait, and benefit from breathing the warm steam of the springs to soothe his still laboured breaths.

Aragorn did not realise he had drifted into a light doze until the sound of passing voices startled him back into awareness. Three Elves were hurrying past him away from the baths back up the valley. He did not hear their words but their tones were angry, bordering on outraged. He glanced up at the sky and realised perhaps half an hour had passed and Lith had not returned.

He found the Elf crouched on a rock beside one of the smaller bathing pools, naked but for the bandages covering his shield arm wrist to elbow. He had pulled his hair back and it lay in a messy queue at the back of his neck. His pack was open beside him and spread around on the rocks were his clothes: coat, shirt, smalls, woollen hood, and loose brown trousers, all of which were sodden and clearly freshly washed. Three more Elves were standing nearby, watching with undisguised horror as Lith rang water from a second shirt and shook the garment out. 

The Elves turned on Aragorn as he approached with expressions of wounded dignity. ‘Peace,’ he begged them. ‘I will deal with this. Please, go about your evening.’ 

They stepped back a little, muttering dark imprecations, but did not leave. That would have been much too simple. Aragorn sighed. Nothing had been simple since he had met Lith. Or perhaps since he had met Gandalf.

The Elf glanced up at Aragorn as he approached, and smiled. He looked more relaxed than Aragorn had seen yet. ‘Aragorn. Did you decide to bathe after all?’

‘No, my friend. What is it you are doing?’

Lith gestured to his wet clothes. ‘I have not found such a good place for washing for many months. The air is cold though, it will take time for everything to dry. Do we need to leave?’

Aragorn hesitated. ‘Perhaps it would be best if we did not linger here over long.’

‘Oh,’ said Lith, and glanced past Aragorn to the staring Elves. His smile faded, and he spoke quieter. ‘I am sorry, did I do something wrong? Do Imladrin Elves not bare themselves to bathe? I have been in mannish towns where nude bodies are considered somehow uncivil.’

‘No, no, they do; that is quite expected. But it is not usual to wash travelling clothes in the bathing pools. It is not thought a clean thing to do. There is a wash house near to the kitchens where clothing can be taken. It is my fault, I should have said so.’

‘Oh,’ said Lith again. One of the Elves behind Aragorn, he thought it the farrier Banethiel, said something quite uncouth in Quenya which thankfully Lith did not seem to understand, and he merely looked up at the sneering observers, uncomprehending. Aragorn knew Lith’s presence here was an unwelcome one but there was no need to descend to _that_ level of rudeness. It was one of the foibles of the Eldar, of course; long centuries of unbroken tradition with little variation meant that mindsets and habits could not easily be altered, and they did not look kindly on those that tried. Even in an Elven land as diverse as Rivendell, change came about very slowly, if it ever did, and cultural rituals, like the etiquette of bathing or hair braiding, were not easily supplanted. 

‘A moment, please,’ Aragorn said to the watching trio, quite firmly. ‘There are other pools available.’ Banethiel and the others looked at him with the hautiest of expressions but Aragorn had long ago built up an invulnerability to such things, and when he steadily held his ground, they turned and walked away.

‘Come,’ he said to Lith, limping down to the edge of the pool. ‘Let us wait together until your clothes are dry enough to wear and then I will show you the guest chamber allocated for you. Sleep in the woods by all means if you prefer a tree to a bed, but you may at least leave your coat there to finish drying, and anything you do not wish to carry with you. Elrond will also deliver your medicine there each evening.’’

‘Very well,’ Lith agreed, and then with apparently no further thought on the matter, dragged his hair loose of its tie and submerged his entire body beneath the water. 

Even once he had quite finished his ablutions, Lith seemed somewhat reluctant to leave the baths, but Aragorn’s promise that he could return every day if he wished finally persuaded him to gather up his things at last. His threadbare clothes were still somewhat damp but while nakedness at the baths was quite acceptable it was not usually commonplace around the rest of the House and Aragorn was glad that Lith did at least don the minimum of trousers and a shirt to prevent yet further indecency.

They went to the guest room that had been assigned for Lith, and the young Elf was clearly surprised to find it quite to his liking. It was one of six rooms designed as a residence for Wood-elves in the style of their native _telain_ although raised only seven or eight feet above the ground. Each chamber was formed of a platform with light screen walls, and they were clustered together around the bole of an ancient oak. Lith's chamber was rather small and simply furnished, but three of its sides could be opened to the night air by moving the screens, and branches swayed low around it on all sides. Once they had found places to hang Lith's clothes to dry, Aragorn reminded the Elf of the instructions Elrond had given. He was to take the reduced dose of pain medication set aside for him as normal with supper, but was to eat nothing after moon-set this night. An hour after dawn on the morrow Lith was to return to the healing ward and there Elrond would explain further the surgery the healers would perform. Lith seemed to understand all, and Aragorn left him to his evening’s rest and went to find his own, aching and thoroughly exhausted for all that he had done nothing this day but shepherd Lith around. He hoped it was not to become a regular occurrence. 

The following morning dawned pale, and the sun glimmered white through low silver mists when Aragorn came early to Elrond’s study. Three Elven healers were making ready to begin their first work on Lith’s arm, preparing their tools and equipment. Elrond made his daily check of Aragorn’s heath while they waited for Lith. Both leg wound and lungs were a little irritated from the previous days’ exertions, and Elrond instructed that the man was to do nothing but rest for the rest of the day. That was not a problem; Aragorn was not required to assist the healers, for though he was very experienced with herbs, bandages and the stitching of skin, he had not the skill for such complex work as the surgery needed for Lith’s arm. This morning he was present just to help his friend feel at ease. But Lith had not yet made an appearance. 

‘He will come,’ Aragorn said, to reassure himself as much as the Elf-lord.

Elrond gave him a sideways glance. ‘He may, or he may not. It remains his choice, Aragorn, and cannot be forced.’

‘I understand that. I only want him to embrace this chance for healing. He is not at ease here. I fear he will be much agitated by the surgery, and by the Elven healers most of all.’

‘That is no surprise,’ Elrond said. ‘He has spent many years learning to fear and flee from other Elves. It is remarkable that he was willing to return to Imladris at all.’

‘Gandalf believes that is my doing,’ Aragorn said. ‘That it was my illness that made him feel compelled to return to the Valley.’ 

Elrond placed two more small tweezers into the boiling pan on the fire to cleanse.

‘Perhaps,’ he said, but nothing further. Aragorn watched the Elf-lord move around the space and thought he looked uncharacteristically ill at ease. 

‘You seem troubled,’ Aragorn said. 'And I sense it is not just one wayward Elf that occupies your thoughts.'

Elrond looked up. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I have many concerns that weigh on my mind of late. I have been thinking much on the news you bore from Tharbad. It seems the Shadow has crept now to the feet of the mountains, and draws nigh even to the borders of Greyflood.’

‘Halbarad and my kinsmen will hold that land a while yet,’ Aragorn said. ‘And the borders of the Shire also.’

‘They may,’ Elrond said. ‘But I fear that many will be summoned south to war before the end, even the Dúnedain, and shadow may yet fall all lands no matter how staunchly defended. Much is shrouded from me, and all ways seem ill.’

‘Then think no more on it for now,’ Aragorn counselled. ‘We can know no more until the scouts return from across the mountains and we receive the tidings we need from Rhosgobel, Mirkwood and Lorien. In the meantime, I will do all that I can with Gandalf to prepare the Ringbearer for his journey and for the trials to come, and we must hope that it will prove enough.’

‘We must hope indeed,’ said Elrond, but he did not seem much comforted. 

Then Aragorn heard the faintest sound by the window to the balcony and, turning, saw Lith was there, loitering with an uncertain air beside one of the pillars. Though he remained pale and tense, Lith looked remarkably improved from the Elf Aragorn had become familiar with over the previous few weeks, just for being a few nights away from the hardships of life on the road. Though he was still barefoot, Lith had left his pack and belt-knife behind in his room, his garments were freshly washed, his face free of smudges and scratches, and his eyes, for once, were clear and bright, lacking the too-familiar haze of pain medication. Aragorn was surprised to see Lith had even made some attempt to tame the snarls in his hair, though Aragorn was familiar enough with the result to know Lith had used his fingers to pull the tangles free rather than a comb. His hair seemed brighter now without its usual sheen of dirt, hints of gold glimmering in the flax.

‘Good morning, young one,’ said Elrond. ‘I trust you rested well?’

‘I did not wish to interrupt,’ Lith said, by way of answer, and gestured towards Aragorn.

‘It is no interruption,’ Elrond assured him, and beckoned the young Elf inside. ‘As Aragorn wisely says we can do little to alter our course at present and so it must be borne with fortitude. But I am pleased to see you here this morn. Aragorn feared you might have changed your mind.’

‘I said I would come,’ Lith said, and straightened his shoulders almost imperceptibly, driven by just the faintest remnant of some long forgotten pride. ‘I can endure.’

‘You need not _endure,’_ Elrond pointed out. ‘Your request for healing is not a binding contract. If you do not feel comfortable or wish to leav eat any time, that is perfectly fine. You are under no oath nor obligation to accept aid. You are not a prisoner here, Lith, and I do not command you.’

Lith nodded, and Aragorn thought he relaxed a little. 

‘Very well,’ Elrond said, and then he was solely focussed on his patient. All other concerns for the growing darkness or the fate of the world were neatly put aside as one long practiced in the art of accepting that which could not be changed. ‘I will now explain what I plan for your healing so you understand what is proposed. Today I wish to observe and explore the wound surgically. It is vital that you remain completely still for this process, and so I would like to place you into a healing trance. My healers and I will examine the damage in more detail and determine what limits lie on the tissue healing. You will wake this afternoon, and be confused and in some pain; I am limited in the pain relief I can give due to your previous usage. This evening you shall eat and rest. Then tomorrow we will perform a second, longer surgery to repair what we can of the tendons and other tissues. You will again be in a trance for this. I estimate it may take up to a fortnight for the wound to be fully closed inside and out. I will devise a list of stretches and movements that will strengthen the limb and hand as much as possible, to be undertaken for some months afterwards. Does this sound acceptable?’

Lith nodded. 

‘Do you have any questions?’ Elrond asked. 

Lith hesitated a moment, and then shook his head. His damaged arm was turned slightly behind his back, out of sight, but the other was slightly raised, fingers brushing nervously against the pillar.

‘Elrond, Mithrandir or I shall be present when you awake this afternoon,’ Aragorn said. ‘You will not find yourself alone.’

Lith nodded and the fingers stilled a little.

Then Elrond introduced him to the three—no doubt carefully selected—assistant healers who would be aiding the surgery: soft-spoken Rínion, dour Cirdurwen and the relentlessly cheerful Nestor, all of whom greeted their patient with polite neutrality and an utter absence of judgement or visible condemnation for his status. Lith was reminded once more that he may refuse treatment at any time, and when he once again consented, the healers began their work. Aragorn waited until Lith had slipped calmly into the healing trance brought about by Elrond’s application of Vilyar’s soothing strength, and then he slipped out of the healing hall and left them to their craft. 

The day passed, as days in Imladris were wont to do, in a slow dream that was yet too quickly fading into clear night before Aragorn realised it. There was much to do, and Aragorn spent many hours in consultation with Glorfindel and Gandalf, and then later also with Boromir, who had endured long years in strife against the forces of Mordor in Ithilien and Osgiliath, and had many observations to impart on the strength and tactics of the enemy. When Aragorn, as Thorongil, had departed Minas Tirith for Harad all those years ago, Boromir had been but a young child and of course remembered Aragorn not at all. But one day Boromir would become Gondor’s steward after his father, and it would behove Aragorn as heir to the kingdom of that land to learn as much of its people and its present rule as possible. He was pleased to find Boromir a capable and observant strategist and though he seemed at the outset somewhat stern and somber under Glorfindel’s imposing presence, he soon became more animated as he spoke about the homeland he loved, and realised their interest in it to be genuine. Aragorn could not say that there was camaraderie yet between them, but this civil regard was a firm start.

Late in the afternoon, the group dispersed when a messenger from Elrond came with word that the first surgery was complete and Lith was being taken back to his rooms. Gandalf took over the task of sitting with the Elf until he awoke from the trance, and so Aragorn finally found himself free to seek out Arwen. She was lately returned from a long ride out to the hills to the north. The weather in the mountains seemed strange and unsettled.

They dined side by side that night in the great hall, surrounded by hobbits, dwarves, men, and elves, both jovial and melancholy, and beneath the murmur of voices and the tones of the harps they could speak together in low voices and not be overheard. Aragorn found that Arwen seemed to mirror Elrond’s pensive mood. 

‘It is nothing,’ she answered when he queried what occupied her thoughts. ‘Or perhaps it is everything.’

‘You worry for your brothers?’ 

‘Always,’ she answered with a soft laugh and a shake of her head. ‘But they are not my chief concern. We all must bear many cares in these days to come. I fear those with the least ability to do so will carry the worst of them.’

Her eyes rested on Frodo where he sat across the long table beside his kinsmen. Pippin and Merry seemed both to be talking at once, while Frodo was interjecting quite happily whenever the fancy took him. Sam was nodding along earnestly and Bilbo looked like he might be asleep. Imladris was a home for all, and Aragorn thought the hobbits could all have lived here happily for a long time should they have come in days of peace. But such was not their lot, it seemed. 

Aragorn sighed. There was little he could do to allay Arwen’s fears, for they were well founded. ‘I will do all I can to keep them from harm,’ he said. 

‘And who will keep you from harm, beloved?’ she asked, with a smile. 

‘Gandalf, I hope. Possibly Samwise; he is tougher than he looks.’ 

She laughed again. ‘Now I fear that I shall have to accompany you myself to keep you from danger!’

Aragorn tried to smile at her jest, but the very thought of leading her but one mile closer to Mordor filled him with dread. But regardless, though Arwen was skilled with the sword and bow, she did not love battle as did her brothers, though none could deny that she was perhaps the most accomplished horsewoman in this land or any. 

‘I would be glad of your company and your skills with a blade,’ Aragorn said. ‘But if you were to join us, then Valar only knows Elladan and Elrohir would too and then any hope of secrecy would be long lost. They draw trouble and danger like wasps to fallen fruit.’

‘What makes you think they do not intend to be part of the quest regardless?’ she said, and then her humour faded a little, and she sighed. ‘You will be heard pressed to have them stay behind, Aragorn,’ she said. ‘And our father would have them accompany this quest, if they return from their errand in time. But even if they do not go at your side, I know they too will ride to war before the end comes. My fear is that war will come to all lands, whether we ride to meet it or not. Then will Imladris and Caras Galadhon need their warriors and find them all gone.’

‘I also fear this,’ Aragorn agreed. ‘But some warriors will yet remain—Nengeldir, Ialla, Glorfindel--’

‘Amongst those that know of it, it is considered quite likely that Glorfindel will also accompany the quest.’

‘How many hundred warriors does Elrond think to send?’ Aragorn muttered. He glanced across the hall towards the warrior in question. ‘I spoke with Glorfindel at length earlier, and he said nothing of such an intention.’

‘Then perhaps he is keeping his own council for now, but he will make the offer soon I deem. But there are others of the household who I think would also make good companions if he cannot be spared and my brothers are not returned. If the choice were mine I would propose Minuialwen the archer, or Erurén Pinadarion for his skill as a tracker. What think you?’

Aragorn put down his fork, and mused. ‘As usual, my love, you seem to know all that happens in this land before it has even occurred.’

‘It is a family gift,’ she said, her eyes twinkling.

‘I think…’ Aragorn said, slowly, and then sighed. ‘I think that I do not wish to make such a choice for another.’ 

‘And none would wish such a road for themselves, either,’ Arwen pointed out. ‘But Frodo cannot go alone, and most who know how crucial and desperate is his quest would pledge themselves to aid it without a second thought, whether they were capable of the task or not. It is for you and Mithrandir to aid my father in bringing together those who can succeed in this if anyone can, whether by skill, by fate or by foresight.’

At that moment, a strange hush seemed to fall across the room, a sudden silence that spread like ripples from a stone falling into still water. All heads turned to look, and Aragorn saw Gandalf entering the dining hall, and with one hand he was steering Lith along by the shoulder. The Elf looked a little dazed as if he had just woken from a heavy sleep. His left arm was bound tight to his chest beneath his shirt with clean white linens, the empty sleeve neatly tied away. Gandalf prompted Lith into an empty seat near to the hobbits and then sat himself down on the other side. Almost immediately, the four Elves sitting opposite stood up and left the hall, and another three from elsewhere along the table soon followed, looks of anger and disgust on their faces. Lith had his head bowed, but Gandalf looked around the room slowly and firmly, as if challenging any other to object. After a moment, the harpist clearly chose discretion over valour and picked up her melody once more, and slowly voices began to speak again around the hall, although many were muttering in quiet anger and the sense of tension did not dissipate. Aragorn saw Pippin wave enthusiastically down the table at the newcomers. Lith just stared back, uncomprehending. Further up the table, Gimli sat beside Boromir, watching all with an unreadable expression, while the Elves around them whispered amongst themselves.

‘Now Mithrandir brings the Bodadêldir to high table,’ Arwen commented. ‘That will no doubt cause yet another round of complaints for Erestor to soothe.’ To any other her comment may have sounded disapproving, but Aragorn heard the hint of satisfaction deep in her tone. Arwen might be the treasured Evenstar of her people, their serenity and light, but she still bore that half-elven mischievous streak in her character. It was true that she held it more tightly in check than her brothers, who could be quite fey and wild when the mood took them, but such was the inheritance of the Peredhel; in many ways Elvish but for a thread of wildness within them that was all too mannish. Like her father, the Lady of Rivendell took secret delight in the unexpected.

‘You might call him Lith,’ Aragorn reminded her, gently. ‘He has been Renamed.’

‘Lith,’ she conceded at once. ‘My apologies. It is strange to think of such a thing. A Bodadêldir is a rarity in itself, but to ever see or interact with one is unknown, let alone by a name. Perhaps I shall have to meet him. The sight of Arwen Undómiel making friends with an unforgiven one would keep Erestor swamped in complaints and outrage for a decade.’

While the thought itself was amusing enough they both knew there was more at stake here. Even with Aragorn, Mithrandir and Elrond himself advocating for the exile, many Elves here were unable to tolerate Lith just dining in the same room. If Arwen also was seen to extend forgiveness towards him, that might do much good for those whose minds were still closed. But tonight was not the night to test such a stratagem.

Aragorn and Arwen both watched the new arrivals for some time. Aragorn noticed the way Gandalf had to nudge Lith every so often to remind the disoriented Elf to eat. 

‘He seems unwell, your friend,' noted Arwen, softly. 'What ails him?’ 

'Several ills, of body and spirit,’ Aragorn said. ‘But this present lassitude is the remnant of one of your father’s healing trances. I doubt Mithrandir would have been able to bring him here tonight were he not so dazed. Lith loves neither crowds, scrutiny, nor being beneath an enclosed roof.’

An Elf seated a few places along from Lith seemed to be arguing with his companions. He rose with an angry gesture and said something Aragorn could not hear towards Lith and Gandalf. Lith flinched but kept his chin up and for a moment the man saw a spark of fire behind his dulled eyes. The other Elf stormed away, followed quickly by one of his friends. Gandalf muttered something under his breath and picked up his goblet. Lith lowered his head again.

Arwen was watching Lith closely as the Elf went back to picking at his meal. 

‘What do you know of him, this Lith?’ she asked, and Aragorn could see her thoughts were sombre again once more. ‘The thought of his crime disturbs me. Though I do not agree with the harshness of his exile, I know why my father’s people are afraid of him. He is like a spectre of a dark past they thought long left behind.’

‘I know very little,’ Aragorn answered. ‘And of his crime, nothing at all, except that I still do not see how he was capable of it. He suffers much under this punishment and still his instinct towards other Elves turns ever towards fear, and not hatred. He has told me he thinks the sentence laid on him was just. As for his life before, I have only a few hints. I believe he has both Sindar and Silvan blood, though he was likely raised by Wood-elves. And he is very young; I know not the precise count, but probably not yet four _în_. I know of few other Elves so young.’

Arwen’s eyes went very wide at that. Aragorn looked at her, closely, and saw a dawning realisation on her face. ‘Why do I sense you know something which I do not?’ he asked.

Arwen laughed. ‘Beloved, the things I know which you do not could fill my father’s library a thousand times over.’

Aragorn groaned and hid his smile behind his wine goblet. ‘Do not remind me.’ 

He pressed Arwen for more but she would not explain her realisation further, saying only that she had perhaps remembered something but she would need time to think on it. At length the meal came to an end and Elves began to retire to the Hall of Fire for the evening’s merrymaking, giving Lith and Mithrandir a wide berth as they did so. 

Aragorn escorted Arwen, as much as one could on crutches, into the Hall to her usual dais to hear the evening song, and Gandalf came in not long after with the hobbits. After the first song came to an end—a long lay telling of the Battle of Fornost—Aragorn gave Arwen a chaste kiss and moved over towards where Gandalf sat with the hobbits at his feet. Lith was not the only one missing from the group; Merry too was absent, but then the hobbit did have a habit of nighttime strolls, one that almost proved the end of him in Bree. But he would come to no harm here in Imladris.

On seeing Aragorn approach, Gandalf excused himself and the pair retired to an unobtrusive corner.

‘Where did Lith go?’ Aragorn asked.

‘Returned to his trees,’ the wizard said, just as softly as another Elven voice rose in song. ‘I feared if I tried to bring him here into the Hall of Fire too there would have been a riot.’

‘That is probably for the best,’ Aragorn said and sighed. His conversation with Arwen had widened his own perspective on the matter. ‘They are frightened of him, and fear for the safety of their families. I suppose we cannot blame them for that.’

‘Fear is one thing,’ Gandalf said, shortly. ‘Cruelty is another.’ It seemed the wizard was in no mood to be forgiving of Elven folly this night.

‘Lith is recovered enough to be safe alone?’

‘He will not fall out of a tree if that is what you are worried about,’ Gandalf said. ‘Some food and drink revived him greatly. He will keep until tomorrow, when the healers will see to him again. Elrond is optimistic that the hand can be restored to greater motion.’

‘That is good news. But still, I fear for Lith. In just a few weeks we will both be gone from this place and I cannot say if either of us will return. I worry for what will become of Lith then.’

‘He survived before he met us,’ the wizard answered, although he too looked troubled.

‘Barely,’ Aragorn said. ‘You said yourself you feared he would soon have come to grief in Fangorn without your intervention.’

Gandalf sighed. ‘He is better now than he has been for years, it is true. More _present_ , more sure of himself. I do not know what will happen if he returns to the Wild once more. Mayhap Elrond will let him stay here a while. He seems to be growing fond of the elfling.’

‘Yet I fear his presence here may continue to cause a rift in Imladris. There are many here who, though they would not normally oppose Elrond, are frightened of Lith and do not condone his sanctuary. There may be little Elrond can do to protect him without becoming at odds with his own people.’ 

The statement had put Aragorn in mind of something else the Lord of Imladris had once said. ‘Gandalf,’ he murmured. ‘Elrond told me once that he feared Lith had suffered the ‘cruelest of injustices’. Lith has never implied anything of the sort, but think you there is any chance that he was innocent of the crime?’ 

Gandalf did not seem to have expected the question, and he considered for a long time before he answered. The haunting song of the Elves wound around them and up into the night, and the fire in the hearth flickered and danced. ‘You know as well as I that innocence and guilt are not so easy to discern, even by the Wise. One may be ascribed either, or willingly take either upon oneself, and yet the fault for the action may lie entirely at some other's feet. While the dealing of justice may well yet one day be your burden to bear, Aragorn, I am thankful at least that it has never been mine.’

‘Very well,’ Aragorn laughed, softly. ‘I did not think you would just say that you did not know, my old friend. But even one of your riddles is better than an outright denial in this matter. For now though I will let the matter lie, for it is late and I am tired. I have much already to think on.’

* * *

Aragorn’s illness enjoyed a brief resurgence that night and despite his tiredness he lay awake for many hours, feverish and unsettled, his thoughts troubled. The shadow in the East seemed to hang dreadful and heavy across his heart, and even the sanctuary of Imladris seemed to do little to hold it at bay as the dark closed in around them. He rose early once he realised sleep would continue to evade him, and set off across the valley in the low grey light of the coming dawn. Winter was now fully upon them and the chill of the east wind crept down the sides of the valley. Where the distant mountain peaks could be seen over the lip of the cleft, they glowed white with snow against the dark sky. 

There was a task Aragorn had yet to do, a mournful task, but this morning’s quiet cold seemed appropriate for duties of melancholy and memory. The crutch slipped every now and then on the leaf-strewn floor but he persevered and soon arrived at his destination. The marble of Gilraen’s memorial glimmered ghost-white in the tree shadows. A small bird hopping through the leaf litter chirped softly and fluttered away as Aragorn knelt to begin his work. Slowly, the grey dawn came.

He worked steadily, clearing fallen twigs and the leaves of autumn from the stone as the light gradually lifted. Unphased by his presence or by the chill grey of the morning, the little chirping bird returned to the branches above and whistled in the dawn as he laboured. Over time, Aragorn realised the bird was not the only presence here; his neck was prickling as if eyes watched him from the dawn. He glanced up, and there was Lith, crouched still as stone and almost invisible up in the boughs of a leafless ash tree above. The little bird Aragorn had frightened off before—he saw now it was a robin—was perched on the Elf’s knee, and singing away heartily, although Lith himself was paying it no mind and was watching Aragorn with that intense Elvish stare that mortal men found so disconcerting. But Aragorn was no ordinary man, and he went back to his work, brushing fallen leaves from the top of the stone and pulling moss from the carved lettering. The runes needed repainting. Every year he thought the same, and yet somehow there was never time. 

‘What do you do here?’

Lith’s question was not unexpected, and although it was an intrusion that Aragorn did not welcome, at least the Elf spoke softly, seemingly aware that there was something hallowed about this place. Aragorn cleared his throat as he considered his answer, looking up at the flawless white marble of Gilraen’s effigy. The pain never really faded.

‘I am maintaining the headstone,’ he said, at last. ‘It is my mother’s.’

‘What does that mean, headstone?’

Aragorn paused for a moment, but then again, earth-cut graves were not the normal practice of the Elves of Imladris, and Aragorn knew nothing about the funerary customs of Elves in other lands. Even amongst other cultures of men the ways of the Dúnedain were not common, but the Wandering People had no great tombs of stone like those that housed their ancestors beneath Mount Mindolluin, nor had they ancestral halls that passed from the forefathers, where barrow mounds could be raised and tended, father to son. The fallen of the Dúnedain all too often had no graves at all.

‘It is a memorial stone, dedicated to one who is gone. I come here to feel close to her when I am in Imladris.’

‘Oh. She is dead, then?’

‘Yes.’ 

Aragorn leaned in, gently pulling away the curling vines from the edges of the stone curb. The Elves would not think to clear away the plants here even if Aragorn asked it of them. They thought not in such short timescales as seasons and years, and did not raise memorials to the dead. By the time they had remembered the task was waiting, decades would have passed and nature would have reclaimed all. He knew each attempt to clear the stone was in vain and that eventually the marker would be lost within the trees but Aragorn did not really mind the leaves and the moss, the creeping weeds. Nothing was meant to be pristine, not even memory.

Lith was still nearby, but he said nothing at all until Aragorn had at last completed his task, and finally stood. The Elf had climbed or dropped silently down from the tree and was now standing on the grass perhaps half a dozen paces away. He looked to have recovered well or at the least had removed the linens that had previously bound his left arm to his chest, letting the bandaged hand hang at his side. His right hand was raised as a perch for the robin, who was pecking at his sleeve.

‘Are the recollections of men so poor,’ Lith asked, glancing back at the stone, ‘that they need such aids to remind them of those who are dead?’

Aragorn smiled a little and walked back towards the path. Lith followed. ‘The older we get, the more you may be right,’ Aragorn said. ‘But it is not the reminder that I need so much as a place where I know I can always find her, where I can dedicate my thoughts to her, and make her memory my sole focus.’

Lith was considered this, tilting his head to the side as his thoughts were far away. After several full minutes he seemed to come to a realisation, ‘I intruded,’ he said. ‘My presence was an interruption of your ritual. I apologise.’

‘Nay, nay. I did not mind,’ Aragorn assured, finding that it was true. Lith's silent presence had been rather a comfort, in the end. ‘And neither would she. She would have liked you, I think.’

Lith said nothing in response to that and they lapsed back into quiet, broken only by the sound of Aragorn’s footsteps, the tap of the crutch and the robin’s now ceaseless chirping. 

‘He is a chatty fellow,’ noted Aragorn.

Lith looked down at the bird with a little smile. ‘He is lazy,’ he murmured. ‘He insists that I must eat many worms to have gotten to be so tall, and therefore, seeing as I am so accomplished at it, I should fetch worms for him too.’ The Elf blew a quick little puff of air at the bird who fluttered away to settle on a nearby post with an indignant flap of its wings. Lith lowered his hand and then said; ‘How was she named?’

‘My mother?’ Aragorn asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Gilraen of the Dúnedain. She raised me here in sanctuary, for a while.’

Lith went so quiet after that that Aragorn glanced back several times to check the Elf still followed. They had passed up a curving stair around the foot of a white turret and elegant cupola, when Lith said, quite suddenly, ‘My mother is dead also.’

For a moment, the momentousness of the statement did not quite break through to Aragorn, and then he realised this was the first Lith had ever offered up voluntarily of his former life. He knew not why the Elf had chosen to speak of it now, but Aragorn kept his expression schooled so not to discourage him, though his feet slowed of their own accord.

‘I am truly sorry,’ he said. ‘The loss of a parent is never an easy thing to bear.’

‘I do not remember her,’ Lith said. ‘Not really. I believe I recall her face, but perhaps it is naught but a dream.’

They had both stopped walking now, paused on a high path beneath the turret where the stone steps began to curved bak down, passing beneath a colonnade of arches and on beneath the trees. To the north the endless churn of the waterfalls thundered on, the heartbeat of the valley. 

‘You must have been very young then, when she died,’ Aragorn said, knowing that Elven memory was long and not often flawed by time. 

‘I was,’ Lith said, he looked away across the water. ‘She lived long enough to give me my mother-name, and then she died in her childbed.'

Aragorn looked at his unlikely friend, feeling the other’s grief almost palpable in the air. If losing a mother was not hard enough, the name she gifted him was now also taken from him.

'I am sorry,’ the man said again, and it seemed grossly inadequate.

Lith seemed not to even hear the platitude. 'You see, In my first moments of life I sent another to death,’ he murmured. ‘I deprived my father of a wife, my siblings of their mother. That act has long been on my soul.'

‘No, Lith. You may feel guilt, but a child is not to blame for such a tragedy.’

'Do you think so?' asked Lith, as if Aragorn had proposed some academic theory, mildly diverting in its abstraction but bearing little substance. 'But I have always been responsible for it. I have long borne this burden, and I know where the fault lies. Perhaps that is just the way amongst my-- amongst those that raised me.’

Aragorn felt ill with this slow revelation. ‘Lith, to say this is madness! A babe cannot control how it comes into this world, any more than it can choose to be an Elf, or a horse! Childbirth is a dangerous process, and many women and ellith lose their lives trying to bring their babes safely to term. Far too often the infant also is lost. Every death is a tragedy. The risks can be lessened with medical care, but no-one is to blame, least of all the child. Listen to me, Lith: you are _not_ accountable for her death.’

Lith flinched, as if Aragorn had struck him. ‘I beg you, do not try to absolve me. After all, a kinslayer is an aberration. I always thought it was evidence that there was ever something wrong about me, even from my formation.’

‘No, Lith, that is not true, and whoever made you believe thus so was wrong to do so. To punish a child for such a tragedy as the death of a mother? That is unquestionably callous.’

Lith said nothing in reply, and when Aragorn turned to look at him, the Elf had fled. Aragorn let him go, knowing he probably had caused the Elf upset with his words but he would not take them back. He continued on to the house, heart and mind sore at what had been revealed. What kind of person could let a child believe themselves responsible for something as tragic and guiltless as a childbed death? Even done unintentionally, which Lith’s words certainly did not imply, such a thing was unutterably cruel. Aragorn wondered what that falsehood—the weight of its blame and guilt—might do to a child as they grew, to their self worth, their emotional development, their sense of righteousness and justice. Perhaps, he thought darkly, if that was the shadow under which Lith had been raised, his later crime of murder was neither such a surprise nor an anomaly as they had all supposed. A monster created, not born.

Lith was to be seen nowhere around the house or gardens after fleeing from Aragorn, but the man did not begin to worry until the Elf did not appear for his appointment with Elrond and the Elvish healers. Aragorn went about his day, but always in the back of his mind was that fear that this would be the event that would drive Lith away, that this time the Elf was gone for good, back into the Wild where there were dangers a plenty—starvation, snow, wolves and goblins—but his heart at least would be safe. Out in the wilderness and winter there was no scorn, no painful attachment, no dangerous new ideas that might shake at the roots of his ill-nourished self perception. 

But again Lith proved to be more courageous that Aragorn’s doubts would credit, for around dusk he appeared on the balcony to Elrond’s study looking miserable and apologetic. He did not say where he had been; indeed, he said nothing at all, least of all explain why he had arrived eight hours late for his appointment, with mud on his face and twigs in his hair, but Elrond did not chastise him for it, and instead the healers quickly set about lighting bright lanterns, and then they sent Lith into his trance and began their much delayed work. 

Again the work took several hours, and after the surgery was complete, Aragorn left Lith to Gandalf’s care once more, sure that his friend would have no wish for more of Aragorn’s troublesome company this day. Still disturbed by what he had learned earlier, the Ranger also sought solitude that evening. He took quiet refuge on one of the covered porches that looked out over the apothecary garden as the rains fell, wrapped in a cloak and deep in thought, and it was thus that Arwen found him. 

‘I have discovered something,’ she said, by way of greeting. ‘And I think you will very much want to know it.’

Aragorn sat back, knocking out of his pipe before she could object to the fumes. He reached for her hand. ‘And what is that, love?’

‘It is Lith,’ she said, her hazelnut eyes dark and full of mystery. ‘I believe I know who he is.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for discussions of death in childbirth/emotional abuse.
> 
> Thank you for the lovely comments from last week. It's great to hear people are enjoying Part 2 so far! I find Arwen very difficult to write because the books just give us so little to go on. I was interested to see how she turned out here.


	3. 2nd December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Aragorn is busy elsewhere, Lith recovers from healing, and unexpectedly finds himself with four new friends and one new adversary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually it is clear, I think, whether characters are speaking Sindarin, Silvan or Westron. In this chapter there is a little more interchanging between languages, so I have used italics for Sindarin.

### 2nd December 3018

The healing trance Lord Elrond lay on him was not true sleep nor was it reverie, but Lith thought it was perhaps closer to the latter than anything. He drifted below any level of real consciousness, but he was aware nonetheless of the healers moving around him, of their quiet voices and warmth of their hands. Sometimes they asked him questions, or wished for him to reassure them that he was comfortable, that he was not afraid and still understood they meant him no harm. He answered them yes, his voice echoey and far away in his ears. He did not dream and he felt no pain.

When he slowly wakened once more to reality he found he lay on the low bed in his talan room, and Mithrandir was again by his side. The wizard was reading a book and outside a silver rain fell. Mastery over his limbs was slow to return and Lith lay still for a long while, blinking the strange fugue and stupor from his mind. At length Mithrandir realised he was waking, and helped him sit and drink cool water. As the numbness left him, so too did the blessed relief from pain and it was far worse now than yesterday, or for long days before. Lith's left arm throbbed and burned with the beat of his pulse, a heavy sick pain that tingled in his fingers and ached all the way into his shoulder. The healers had bandaged his arm from elbow to fingertip and it was once more bound against his chest. Today he made no attempt to remove the bindings, and merely curled in around the limb, trembling and sick. His blood was a torrent beating within him and his mind wailed for the relief of naegranaeth. But they had given him all they could, Mithrandir said, and in his black mood Lith cursed the wizard, the Ranger, the Elf-lord and most of all himself for his pitiful state. 

Mithrandir announced that he could see Lith had neither the disposition nor the strength to go anywhere that night, and so he had someone bring food to them. Lith refused all encouragement to eat, and remained curled into a ball of misery until Mithrandir grew quite cross and threatened that he would have Elves bear Lith back to the healing halls if he was too ill even to make an attempt. Lith had no wish to be subject to the healers again, and nor did he want to risk that Mithrandir might grow frustrated and leave him alone, not with these dark thoughts. So he tried to do as he was bid, and ate a little of the bread and fruit, as much as he could stomach. Mithrandir seemed satisfied and praised him for his fortitude, and as Lith curled up again with his back pressed to the bole of the oak tree, the wizard distracted him from his misery by reading aloud. 

It was a part of a tale from an Age long past that told of great deeds beneath ancient forests in a land now lost to the sea. Lith knew little of such a time, being many thousand years before his own life began and he was no student of lore, nor had such histories ever played much of a part in his schooling. But Mithrandir knew him well, and knew that he loved to hear tales of the Elf kingdoms of old and the mighty warriors who dwelt there, of their deeds great and terrible and tragic, and now all beyond the hurt of time. Mithrandir grumbled often as he read, muttering that the retelling was fanciful and the author much prone to embellishment, but Lith cared not at all, and let the soothing cadence of the wizard’s voice carry him far from his own pain and fears into a distant past where exiles could still be heroes, and redemption was rarely beyond all reach.

At length the pain began to fade, or perhaps Lith just grew familiar with it once more, and at last he succumbed to sleep with the soothing murmur of the drowsing tree at his back and the rise and fall of Mithrandir’s tale flowing into his dreams. 

The next morning Lith awoke alone to several revelations. Though the nerves of his arm were still lit up bright with pain, he was feeling much stronger than the previous night, and also he was quite hungry. It had stopped raining at some point and, perhaps most importantly, there was someone outside his talan. He did not fear it an orc or some other evil thing, not here in the heart of the Hidden Valley, but although Lith could smell pipe smoke he knew the visitor was neither Aragorn nor Mithrandir. Whoever it was, while perhaps waiting for him, did not seem to be requiring his attention at that moment, so Lith took the time to discard his nightshirt and pull on his breeches before investigating. Then he peered out through the screened archway of the chamber and looked down onto the world beyond.

Seated on the grass below, book in one hand and a pipe in the other, was a hobbit. He was diminutive in stature, like all his kind, though darker in colouring and less rotund than some Lith had seen. He reminded Lith of Bilbo, and he realised after a moment where the familiarity derived, for this was Frodo, the hobbit who had attended Elrond’s Council and Mithrandir had entrusted to bring the enemy’s ring safe to Imladris. Frodo seemed to be alone, although Lith thought he could hear bright voices not too far away amongst the trees. Lith watched for a long time before Frodo seemed to sense his gaze and look up.

‘Hullo!’ the hobbit said, seeming startled, and then he seemed to remember himself and switched to Sindarin. _‘Lith, good morrow. Do I find you well?’_

Frodo's use of the Elvish language was stilted and rather formal and he had a strong accent, like one who was book-learned but did not often use the tongue for conversation. Bilbo's Elvish, when first they had met, had been much the same. Lith considered for a long moment before he nodded. _‘Yes_ ,’ he replied. _‘I am well_.’

The rain had eased for now, and the low sun was shining gold onto the bare trees, though the sky behind was heavy and grey and he could smell more rain to come. The north wind rustled through the branches and touched cold on Lith’s bare shoulders. He came to the edge of the platform.

 _'Mithrandir said that you were recovering from injury,’_ Frodo said, and his eyes settled on the white bandages that bound Lith’s damaged arm to his chest. _‘He had to leave but he thought some company would be of value if you awoke.'_ He hesitated a moment and then added, _‘I hope my Elvish is comprehensible to you. Alas I am still learning.’_

 _‘It is very accomplished_ ,’ Lith said, and the hobbit beamed. Lith dropped down from the talan onto the winter grass below, a little way away from the hobbit, and Frodo stood up.

 _‘My name is Frodo Baggins,’_ he said. _‘I am not sure if you remember me. I know well that it can be…’_ and he slipped back into Westron for a moment as if lacking the word he needed, ‘...disorienting… _to wake up so from injury.'_

 _‘I remember you,’_ Lith told him. _‘You were the guest of honour at Lord Elrond’s Council.’_

Frodo smiled and nodded his head. _‘Bilbo has told me much about you,'_ he said. 

Lith wondered, with more than a little apprehension, just how much Bilbo had said, but Frodo did not seem to note anything amiss. 

_‘I am very pleased to make your acquaintance at last,’_ the hobbit continued, and then he was bowing in proper Elvish fashion, hand to his heart, and reciting something in the High Elven tongue. Lith said nothing but returned the bow as best as he could with his arm as it was, only to find as he straightened that the motion had left him rather lightheaded. The lingering effect of Lord Elrond’s healing trance, no doubt.

'Careful, careful,' said Frodo, alarmed, as Lith swayed. _'You should sit; you are still recovering. Are you not cold?’_

Lith blinked. The sun was very bright and very beautiful but this late in the year it gave little warmth. He didn’t think he was cold, but more importantly he did now remember that Aragorn had said clothing was usually worn around the Homely House and its gardens when one was not bathing. Perhaps it would be more polite to Frodo if he were dressed in more than just his breeches. 

_'Apologies_ ,’ he said, and awkwardly climbed back up to his little talan one-handed to find that while he slept a set of simple Elven clothes in grey and blue had been placed in the chest at the foot of the bed, presumably for his use. There was no chance of manoeuvering his arm into a shirtsleeve, not with it bound up so against his chest and he could not easily untie the bindings.

 _‘Permit me to render aid?_ ’ said Frodo. Lith had not closed the screen and Frodo no doubt could see into the talan, and had quickly understood Lith's struggle and dilemma. Lith had no reason to reject the profered aid, and so he gathered up the clothes into a bundle and returned to the forest floor, sitting on the ground so Frodo could reach. Frodo set about with quick, clever fingers, untying the linens that bound his arm. Then together they worked the still-bandaged limb through shirt and tunic sleeves. The material of the shirt felt pleasantly soft on Lith’s skin, for he had not worn garments of Elven make for a long time. He ran his fingers over the shirt cuff, feeling the roughened skin catch on the fine cloth and thought how faded and worn his old garments must look in comparison to even these simple Elven fabrics. 

Once his shirt and tunic were in place, and Frodo had helped him buckle his belt closed over them, Frodo stepped away. ‘ _Thank_ _you,’_ Lith said, quietly. Even though he was now dressed, he felt oddly more exposed now without his hood. He wondered about going to get it, but Frodo did not seem disturbed by the ugliness of his scars. The wind gave a little gust then and fluttered Lith's hair across his face. He pushed it back behind his ear, impatiently.

Frodo looked uncertain. ' _I_ _cannot aid with that, I am afraid. We will need to find another.’_

_‘For what?’_

_‘With your hand injured will you not need assistance to see to your hair? All the Elves have many braids, but I have never braided hair before.’_

_‘Oh_ ,’ said Lith. _‘No. I do not wear braids_.’

 _‘I see_ ,’ said Frodo, but thankfully he didn’t ask more. Lith stretched out his bad arm; it had stiffened as he had slept. Just the tips of the fingers were visible past the brace at his wrist that held the hand still. He crooked his fingers as far as they would go and felt the ache burn into pain at the wrist. He wanted to pull away the bandages to inspect the skin underneath. He did not.

Frodo had been watching. _'Does it pain you?'_ he said, gesturing to Lith's unseen arm. 

_'Yes_ ,' Lith said. _'But Lord Elrond says it will improve, in time.’_

 _'Ought you to be resting some more?’_ Frodo asked next. Lith supposed the arm probably looked terribly bad with all those bulky bandages. _‘I would not want to be the cause of you taking sick.'_

Lith considered the words as he twisted a fallen leaf in his fingers, round and round. There was a rich, mineral smell of wet earth rising all around them. Blackbirds swooped overhead, chattering of crab apples and winter berries. The sun went behind a grey cloud and then just as quickly returned. Suddenly he was aware that Frodo was looking at him oddly, and he realised he had left the hobbit’s question too long without an answer. It had been so long since he had needed to talk at length with anyone who was not Aragorn or Mithrandir that he could not readily recall the rhythm and mechanics of conversion. At length, he said, _'I do not need rest at present.'_

 _'Very well,'_ Frodo said, and he smiled. Lith relaxed a fraction. He let the leaf fall.

 _‘Where is Mithrandir?_ ' he asked next.

 _'He went to see Lord Elrond_ ,' said Frodo. _'There were some tidings, I think_.'

Lith was about to ask more when just then the sound of a whistle came from the woods behind them. Frodo stood, put two fingers in his mouth and whistled back, sharp and loud. The hobbit seemed surprised when he turned to find Lith was on his feet with his knife drawn, staring into the trees. He could hear nothing but laughing voices, the rush of water, the flutter of birds. He sensed no danger. The instinct to take shelter in the trees above was strong, but that would leave the hobbit here alone, unprotected, and that he would not do.

_'Lith, what is the matter?'_

'You whistled,' Lith replied in the hobbit's own tongue, still searching the trees. Soft footfalls, barely perceptible, were approaching; small and light. Three or four creatures moving fast. 'There is an attack?'

Frodo gaped for a moment. 'No, no. There's no attack, we're safe in Rivendell. I was just letting my friends know where we are.’

Not appeased, Lith scanned the trees again, but they still gave him no warnings, just hummed sleepy greetings in their own song. The other creatures were still approaching, and very quiet were their footfalls, but he knew they were not Elves for they were calling to each other in the Common Tongue. They were more hobbits.

’Might you perhaps put the knife away, Lith?' Frodo said, gesturing to Lith's knife. Strangely, the hobbit seemed not in the least afraid of Lith, only _for_ him. 'It's just Sam might take it amiss; it took him four weeks to forgive Aragorn drawing his sword in Bree.'

Lith did as he was bidden and slid the knife back into its sheath, feeling unnerved. 

'Wood-elves use whistles to signal through dense forest,' he said, feeling the need to explain himself. 'Your whistle sounded to me like an alert of ambush.'

'Oh, I am sorry. I didn't mean to startle you,' Frodo said, and seemed quite genuine in his regret. 'I shan't do it again.'

Before he could think what to reply, a hobbit burst into the clearing, running at full speed. He was shorter than Frodo, and lighter haired, and was wearing a blue coat. A scarf trailed out behind him.

'Ha!' he shouted back into the treeline, as he slowed. 'I win!' 

There was a muffled reply from somewhere close and then a second figure launched himself out of a bush and tackled the newcomer to the ground. Lith tensed, his hand going to his knife hilt again as the first hobbit shouted in outrage, but then the second figure was yelling too, and he realised this one was also a hobbit. 

‘Go, Sam, go!’ 

And the third figure arrived, darting through the trees like a stocky grey shadow and skidding into the clearing beside Frodo, sliding a little on the wet grass as he clapped a hand onto Frodo’s back. 

‘Home!’ he pronounced, with breathless joy.

The other two hobbits disentangled themselves with a mixture of triumphant shouts and outraged grumbling. 

‘Merry! I can not believe that you picked Sam over me,’ bemoaned the one with the scarf, shaking leaves out his hair. ‘I thought I was your favourite.’

‘Pippin, don’t be ridiculous,’ said the second hobbit, pulling his companion or competitor—Lith could not be sure—to his feet. ‘Sam is everyone’s favourite. Besides, Sam never gets to win footraces, because he always lets Frodo get a head start.’

‘That’s true, he does,' said the one called Pippin. 'So what you’re saying is the fact my mouth is full of mud is actually Frodo’s fault?’

‘Don’t bring me into this,’ said Frodo, laughing. ‘I wasn’t even involved.’ He slapped the winning hobbit, the one in a grey jacket and waistcoat, heartily on the shoulder. ‘Besides, I’m sure you _all_ cheated outrageously.’

‘Of course we did,’ said Pippin, sounding indignant. He and the second hobbit, who was wearing a yellow waistcoat and several bits of hedge, were coming over to join them, pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, both coated in fresh earth and grass-stains. ‘Otherwise what’s the point? Sam actually tipped Merry into a bramble thicket, you know.’

‘He did,’ said the other, proudly. From the scratched state of his face and hands this, presumably, was Merry. 

‘And then you _still_ helped him win,’ said Pippin, pointedly. 

‘Such cut-throat determination should be rewarded,’ said Merry, cheerfully. ‘It builds character.’ Lith must have made a slight movement then for Merry looked up and gave a start, seeming to notice him for the first time. ‘Hullo! What’s this?’

‘This is the Elf Gandalf wanted us to look out for,’ Frodo said. ‘His name is Lith.’

‘I thought he was sick,’ said Merry, doubtfully, ‘Ought he to be out of bed?’

‘He says he is well,’ Frodo replied. 

'Why doesn't he have any shoes?' said Pippin.

Sam was also staring at Lith, but he seemed more shyly fascinated than afraid or angry, as if Lith was some rare wonder. ‘Ought to say hello,’ he muttered, as if to himself. Then he turned to Frodo with a look of mild panic. ‘Quick, Mr. Frodo; how do you say _hello_ in Elvish?’ he asked.

‘I speak your tongue,’ Lith said quietly. Actually, it had not always been so; when Mithrandir had first brought Lith in from the woods he had known barely a dozen phrases of Common Speech, learned in his youth in case of chance encounters with the Woodsmen living on the borders of the Greenwood. But now he had been to many mannish towns where no Elvish tongues were known at all, and indeed before he had met the wizard again earlier in the autumn it was instead Elvish which he had not spoken for years. 

The newer hobbits had paused at his revelation. 

‘Right,’ said Merry, wiping his muddy palm on his waistcoat before he held it out to Lith. Lith carefully took it and let the hobbit shake their clasped hands up and down, in the manner of the Northmen when meeting or sealing an agreement. ‘I’m Merry Brandybuck,’ the hobbit said. ‘That’s Pippin Took, and Sam Gamgee.’ 

His hand was released. Lith stepped back and absorbed the array of outlandish names carefully. ‘Well met,’ he said. 

‘I suppose you know Frodo already,’ said Merry. ‘From the Council.’

‘Yes,’ Lith agreed. 

‘Do you live here in Rivendell, Mister Lith?’ said Sam. He was still staring at Lith wide-eyed. Lith wished he had worn his hood after all.

‘I am just called Lith,’ the Elf corrected. ‘No. I came here with Aragorn. I will leave again soon.’

‘Where’s your home, then?’

‘I do not have one.’

‘That’s not right,’ said Sam, indignantly. ‘Everyone should have _somewhere_.’

Lith said nothing to that. 

'Your arm looks terribly painful,’ said Pippin, with some sympathy. ‘You were out scouting with Strider, weren't you? He said you were attacked by wolves.'

'Who is Strider?' Lith asked.

'That's Aragorn,' Frodo said. 'We were introduced to him as Strider back in Bree; it's still difficult to remember he's so much more than just a Ranger.'

Lith realised then that the hobbits had concluded his wounding was the result of the wolf attack, and clearly neither Mithrandir nor Aragorn had disabused them of the notion. He had no intention of correcting the error; it was far preferable to the truth.

'It was but one wolf,’ he said, instead.

Frodo shook his head, marvelling. 'One wolf already sounds like far too many!'

'After everything we had to deal with on the way here,' said Pippin, 'wolves are still one trouble I very much hope we don’t meet.’

'Me neither, Mr. Pippin,' said Sam, with a shudder. 'Nor orcs.'

'Wolves usually stay near the mountains,' Lith attempted to reassure him. ‘It would be most unusual to encounter one anywhere on the road between Imladris and the Shire, even in the winter, let alone orcs.'

Despite his attempt, Lith thought Frodo looked a little sad then. The hobbit glanced away to the east and then sighed, as if his attention had been drawn off by some dark thought.

Then Pippin said, ‘What happened to your face?’ 

‘Pip!’ admonished Merry, as Lith’s hand went to his right cheek, unbidden. ‘That’s rude.’

‘Sorry,’ shrugged Pippin, who didn’t look it in the slightest. ‘I only wondered. He doesn’t have to tell us.’

‘Please ignore Pippin,’ Frodo said to Lith. ‘He was dropped on his head as an infant.’

‘Was he?’ Sam asked Merry.

Merry huffed. ‘What makes you think I had something to do with it?’

‘Years of experience?’ said Frodo, just as Sam said, loyally,

‘I shouldn’t like to say, Mr. Merry.’

‘Look,’ said Pippin. ‘I’m starving and I’m freezing, and I think I have mud still jammed in my ear. Is it time to eat yet?’

All four of them looked up at the overcast sky, but the sun had long since faded behind dark clouds. 

‘I mean, it’s always _time_ to eat,' Merry said. 'But whether it’s noon yet or not I don’t know. I didn’t hear the bell.’

‘We could always do another race if you wanted to warm up again, Mr. Pippin,’ said Sam. 'You might even win this time.’

‘Confidence,’ nodded Merry, sagely, while Pippin spluttered and Frodo laughed. ‘I like it. A little healthy competition has bought out the best in you, Master Gamgee.’ He pulled a bramble whip out from from inside his collar and flicked it away.

‘No more running races this morning,’ begged Pippin. ‘I’m too famished. Let’s go see if Frodo can charm any more fruit cake out of that nice Elf who runs the kitchens with his I-was-nearly-killed-by-wraiths routine to keep us on our feet until luncheon.’

‘You’re going nowhere near Lord Elrond’s kitchens in the state you're in,’ Frodo laughed. ‘You all look like you’ve been dragged through Midgewater Marsh lashed behind wild ponies.’

'I shall waste away,' threatened Pippin, throwing a hand dramatically across his eyes.

'Good!' said Frodo. 'Then we'll have some peace at last.'

'One moment,' Lith said. He quickly climbed back up to his small bedchamber and delved in his pack. He came back down a moment later, holding out his foraging bag to Pippin. 

'What's this? Oh, chestnuts! Where did you get these?'

Lith pointed west. 'Half a day yonder.'

Frodo was looking between Lith and Pippin. 'You know Pippin is just being dramatic, don't you?' he asked, carefully. 'You don't need to give him anything. It'll be luncheon soon anyway.'

'I know,' said Lith, but he also knew mortals needed more sustenance than Elves and he did not like to think the hobbits were hungry, whatever the hour.

The hobbits sat down around him and devoured the nuts and dried berries with obvious delight. The food did not go very far when shared between them all, but Pippin beamed at Lith anyway, and the Elf felt a little burst of warmth.

'Thank you!'

'You've made friends for life now,' Frodo told Lith, laughing.

‘I think I should like that,’ Lith replied quietly, hoping Frodo did not speak in jest. Though the hobbits were rather startling en masse and Lith found their endless stream of talk and questions a little intimidating, they did not speak to him as if he was unclean or defective, and more importantly, they were not afraid of him. Their easy comradery reminded him of something he could barely remember.

‘Well, that’s settled then,’ said Pippin with some satisfaction. ‘Besides, if you’re already friends with Gandalf, Strider _and_ Bilbo, Lith, then I don’t think you really stood a chance of shaking us off!’

Lith nodded. ‘I have known Gandalf and Bilbo a long time. Although I did not know he had a son until I came here.’

Frodo looked briefly startled and then the hobbits suddenly broke into laughter. 'I’m sorry,’ said Frodo, still laughing. ‘Im sorry, I promise we're not laughing at you. I can see where you got the idea, Lith, but Bilbo isn't my father.'

Lith frowned, aware he had paid little attention during the early part of the Council where perhaps this had been explained, for he had been too wrought with agitation by the conflict at the door and then by his own daring in even attending the event. Had not Bilbo spoken of Frodo as his heir? ‘I am sorry if I misunderstood,’ he said. ‘I thought because you have the same _abeneth…’_

‘Abeneth?’ said Merry. ‘What’s that?’

‘Is it Elvish for ‘ridiculous dimples’?’ said Pippin. ‘Because he’s right; they do. Also a weird nose.’

Frodo ignored Pippin like one might a younger brother. ‘Can you say it in Common, Lith?’

Lith opened his mouth and then closed it again. ‘I do not know the word in the Common Tongue. It is...an honour name?’ He attempted the translation. The hobbits looked none the wiser. ‘The fourth name,’ Lith tried next, and then gave up. ‘You both are called _Baggins_...’

‘Ah,’ said Frodo, with understanding. ‘We have the same _surname_.’

 _‘Surname_ ,’ Lith repeated the syllables. ‘That is what you would call it? Yes.’

‘Well, we are related,’ Frodo explained. 'I know it’s different for Elves, but with hobbits, our surnames are inherited, so Uncle Bilbo and I get the name Baggins from the same family line.’

Lith tilted his head. ‘Uncle? I do not know that word in Common either.’

Frodo laughed. ‘Well, we make a fine pair,’ he said. ‘Because I don’t know that one in Elvish!’

‘And actually,’ added Pippin, ‘Bilbo isn’t Frodo’s uncle anyway, more his first _and_ second cousin, once removed either way.’

Lith was now thoroughly bewildered. 

‘He is my...my kinsman,’ Frodo settled on. ‘My own parents died when I was quite young, so Bilbo adopted me as his heir.'

Lith was reminded then of Aragorn's words yesterday morning. _The loss of a parent is never an easy thing to bear._ Here was yet another of Middle-earth's orphaned children. 'I am sorry to hear that they were lost,' he said. 

'It was a long time ago,' said Frodo, who seemed surprised but gratified by his words. 'But thank you all the same. And Bilbo has been wonderfully kind to me and I wouldn’t change him for anything.’

'Then, is he not your father after all?' Lith said, still a little confused.

Frodo hesitated. 'I suppose he is,' he agreed at last, with a smile.

‘Bilbo's a capital fellow,’ said Merry, rather muffled as he was also trying to pull a bramble thorn out of his palm with his teeth at the same time. ‘It’s a shame that he whisked you away to Hobbiton though; a few more years at Brandy Hall and we would have made a proper Brandybuck out of you, my dear Frodo. You were so close to greatness.’

‘All your names seem strange to me.’ Lith said, a little tentatively, but curious nonetheless. ‘If you don't mind the question? Apart for the men of Rohan and those of the far south, the names of most people and places in these lands come from Elvish, and so I know their meaning. What does Baggins mean? And Brandybuck?’ 

‘You know, I have no idea,’ said Frodo. ‘Isn’t that odd? I’ve never thought about it before.’

‘Peregrin means _legendary pilgrim,_ ’ said Pippin, with an air of erudition that from the other's expressions was apparently quite rare.

‘It is like to Gandalf’s name, then,’ said Lith. ‘Mithrandir. The _grey pilgrim_.’

‘Oh!’ said Pippin, delighted. ‘I can’t wait to tell Gandalf my name is a better version of his. He isn’t going to like that _at all.’_

‘Do Elvish names all have to mean something, then?’ asked Merry, curiously. ‘What does yours mean?’

‘Lith means ash,’ said Frodo, before Lith could respond.

‘Like the tree?’ said Sam, perking up.

‘No,’ said Frodo. ‘Like from a fire, I think. Is that right?’

Lith nodded but said nothing. He regretted raising the subject of names now; they were walking too close to too many of his endless secrets. Frodo perhaps knew something from Lith's face for he quickly changed the subject. 

‘So, this is your room then?’ he said to Lith, looking up at the platform room above with its screen walls and roof of woven branches. 'I've never seen one like it before we came here.'

‘Lord Elrond lets me use this _talan_ ,’ Lith said.

'Why aren't you in the big house, like us?'

'I prefer this.'

‘It’s not what I’d call a room,’ muttered Sam, looking at the structure with clear dismay. ‘I’m starting to think there won’t be any decent hobbit holes anywhere on this journey until we get back home! Not that Rivendell isn’t marvellous in its own way, of course,’ he added, hastily. ‘But it’s all just so _different_.’

‘Don’t worry, Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘I’m sure it’ll all start to feel more homelike before too long.’

‘That’s just what I’m worried about, if you take my meaning,’ muttered Sam.

Pippin meanwhile, without so much as a by-your-leave, had climbed up the wooden ladder and was peering into Lith’s little talan room. 'So do you have a wash basin we could use? Then Frodo might let us go raid the kitchens.' 

The Elf shook his head. ‘There's no water.’ Then as an afterthought, he added, ‘The baths are not far from here, though.’

The hobbits all perked up with interest. 

'Baths?' said Frodo.

'We've been here a month and this is the first I'm hearing about fancy baths?' said Pippin. 

‘I suppose springs is more correct,’ Lith said. ‘The Imladrin use them for bathing.’

'Bilbo told me about some hot springs in the valley ages ago,' said Merry, with the air of one who considered finding things out to be his specialty. 'But I couldn't find them at first and then I forgot all about it. This place is even more of a rabbit warren than Brandy Hall, for all that it’s overground!'

‘What kind of pools, begging your pardon?’ said Sam, sounding suspicious.

‘Hot water comes up through the earth into pools. There are different sizes, I think,’ Lith answered, vaguely. ‘I saw some quite large, for many bathers. Others no wider than the height of a man. Why?’

‘Poor old Sam is not much one for water,’ Merry said, ‘not when it isn't in a bathtub, a watering can or brewed into ale!’

‘Well, he’s not alone in that,’ laughed Pippin. ‘We proper hobbits treat rivers, lakes and boats with a most sensible quantity of misgiving.’

‘Boats?’ Lith said, confused. ‘You will not need a boat. These are but small pools that you can swim in.’

‘Swim!’ cried Sam, as if Lith had suggested they simply breathe fire, or walk on the ceiling. ‘I never did know a hobbit who could swim, apart from old Merry here of course. But Brandybucks are strange folk - meaning no offence, Mister Merry.’

Merry bowed, graciously.

‘But how can you not swim?’ asked Lith, still confused. ‘Is it not as natural as breathing, or running?’

‘No, it’s a skill that must be learned,’ said Frodo. ‘Though very few hobbits care to try it. Is that different for Elves?’

Lith nodded. All Elves swam from birth, of course; it came as naturally to them as singing, or walking on snow. Despite all his years passing from town to town there was so much about mortals he still did not know. Perhaps that explained why the two mannish-children in Tandoliant had struggled so much in the river, although it had been so swollen with floodwater that maybe it would have made no difference if they had been elflings in the end.

The hobbits, meanwhile, seemed to be having a revelation of their own. 

‘Imagine that, Mister Frodo,’ said Sam. ‘Swimming without learning it! As an infant, too. Elves are the most amazing folk.’ 

‘They are at that, Sam,’ Frodo agreed. The others nodded. 

‘Though,' Pippin added, ‘you’re the first one we’ve really talked to, Lith. Properly anyway, apart from Gildor, and then there was Glorfindel, who was nice enough but rather grand and serious. The Elves here all seem frightfully busy and important all the time; rather like Gandalf in a bad mood. I wouldn’t want to interrupt.’

‘Apart from the Lady,’ said Frodo, and all their expressions softened, and turned briefly rapturous.

‘Well, of course, apart from _her_ ,’ said Merry. ‘She’s…’ He trailed off, clearly lacking the words to express quite what he was feeling.

‘The lady?’ Lith asked.

‘Lady Arwen Úndomiel,’ said Frodo. ‘The Evenstar. Aragorn brought her to meet us. The light of stars is in her bright eyes, grey as a cloudless night, and she is queenly as one who has known many things that the years bring. They say in her again is found the likeness of Lúthien Tinúviel.’

‘Look out, he’s veering into poetry,’ said Pippin, with mock alarm. Frodo thumped him.

‘Anyway,’ Frodo said, clearing his voice. ‘I’m sure Lith knows her better than we do.’

Lith shook his head. ‘I know none here. I do not speak much with other Elves.’

‘Well, that’s no good. You had better stick with us then,’ said Pippin, looking Lith up and down. ‘You're a bit over-grown for a hobbit though your feet really are astonishingly small, but I think you'll do well enough. Agreed?’

The other hobbits nodded, seriously.

‘Oh yes,’ said Merry. Lith had the feeling something had just been decided quite without his input but he decided not to ask.

‘Well I, for one, would like to take a look at these baths,’ said Frodo. ‘I’m sure we can find one no deeper than a puddle for Sam to dip his toes in. Would you show us, Lith? If you've no other pressing demands, of course. And then we’ll be in the right frame of mind for lunch, and you shall join us!’

Lith, of course, had no demands on his time at all, except to see Elrond on the morrow and have his healing arm checked, but he seemed to have little say in the matter for he soon found himself shepherding the four hobbits to the hot springs. He pointed out towels and soap just as Aragorn had done for him not so long ago, and was then careful to explain to Frodo, who seemed to be the leader amongst them, that it was frowned upon to wash their clothes in the bath water, a fact they absorbed with bemused acceptance. Soon they were racing into the pools with delight, and even Sam seemed to find one that was shallow enough to meet his standards.

Lith stayed some distance apart while the hobbits sang and splashed, being careful not to draw the attention and ire of any of the Imladrin residents on himself. When the hobbits emerged, dripping and clean, he had retreated to a small copse of maples near the stream, but he came down when he heard the hobbit voices again on the path.

Then, the lunch bell was ringing. Without really considering, Lith let the hobbits sweep him along all the way to the main house, entranced by their cheerful chatter. It was only when they reached the threshold did he stop short.

‘You should go on,’ he told the hobbits when they turned to look at him. 

‘You’re not hungry?’ said Sam. 

‘I don’t like to go into the house,’ Lith said. ‘If I can avoid it.’ 

Two passing Elves gave him a cold look when they saw him beside the hobbits and Lith quickly dropped his gaze until they were gone. 

‘Why?’ asked Merry. 

‘I am not welcome.’

‘But why?’ said Pippin. The four faces bore expressions between confusion and distress, and he thought perhaps only Merry and Pippin remembered the way the Elves had responded when Lith had attended the late meal with Mithrandir the night before last. Lith had already known that none the hobbits could have any idea what Lith was, or they should never have been so friendly and approachable this day; they had thought him no more than any other Elf, any friend of Bilbo's. Even if Bilbo had told Frodo of Lith, it could not have been much. Perhaps it was selfish or cruel, but Lith found he did not want to pour poison into the hobbits' good humour and accepting company with the truth of his status. Not yet, anyway. He did not want them to fear him.

Lith stepped back. ‘Enjoy your meal,’ he told them. ‘I wish to walk awhile in the valley. Farewell.’

Before they could object, Lith had darted away from them into the trees. He slowed as soon as the hobbits were out of sight, and let his feet take him on a slow, wandering path around the side of the house, aiming again for the woods. He found himself deep in thought. The hobbits had been...fascinating. Lith had been surprised to find that Bilbo was not as similar to Frodo and his bright young friends as Lith might have supposed. They all seemed so young, and full of thoughtless joy. As long as Lith had known Bilbo he had been bookish and fussy and something of a hermit. He loved stories and songs of far away places, and was quite content to be ignored by everyone so long as he had ink and paper, and the sight of green hills. He was stubborn beyond measure, and clever-fingered, and delighted in the silly and the irreverent. He was fierce. He was kindness personified. 

Bilbo had seen much, Lith knew. Great deeds, and terrible too. Tragedy. Madness. Heartbreak and betrayal and war. Such things always left their mark. Merry, Pippin and Sam were not untouched by the horrors they had already seen, by the terror of the Nazgûl, by their long and weary flight from the Shire. But when they returned home they would find the darkness on their hearts fading to only a shadow of memory. They were not yet changed irreversibly. But as for Frodo, however...there was something in his eyes that said he understood, or at least was beginning too. He was already changing.

Lith had seated himself on the edge of a green sward, deep in thought, watching an eagle circling over a mountain peak far away, when a voice pulled him back to the ground.

‘Master Elf. Might I ask what are you doing near to my chambers?’ 

Lith was startled from his introspections to see a red-bearded Dwarf standing in front of him. He must have been deep in thought indeed not to have noticed the creature's approach. After a momentary confusion he realised that he had seen this Dwarf before with Bilbo. Gimli, Gloin's son, that was his name. The Dwarf was standing not six feet away with his feet firmly planted and arms crossed. Lith fumbled for something to say but had not chosen an answer before the Dwarf took his quiet amiss once more.

‘You refuse to speak to me still?’ Gimli snapped. ‘I gave you the benefit of the doubt before, but now your silence seems more than just discourtesy.’ 

The unfairness of the accusation spurred Lith into speech. ‘I am quiet, not rude,’ Lith said, wishing his voice was not so muted when startled like this. ‘You are the one seeking out conversation where it is not wanted.’

‘You do have a tongue in your head, then; I thought Master Baggins must be mistaken.’ The Dwarf retorted. ‘As are you, for I asked not for conversation, but to know what you were doing here.’

‘Sitting. And before that, walking. I did not know this was your residence,’ said Lith, glancing at the wing of the sprawling house that stood close by. 

‘Then perhaps you will be polite enough to walk away,’ said Gimli. ‘And find some other window to skulk beneath.’

Skulk? The Dwarf thought him a thief, and the worst was, Lith could not in good conscience deny it. Too often in his exile he had been forced to rely on stealth and theft to get what he needed, and it was not all in the past either; the pain-bite he had stolen from Elrond could evidence that. Shame made his own rare temper flare and he stood quickly, gaining some comfort that it meant the Dwarf had to look up at him now. ‘I have done nothing to you, your rooms or your possessions. Nor will I. I have no interest in Dwarves. Leave me be.’ 

‘So say you,’ Gimli replied. ‘But how can I have faith in your word? I know nothing about you.’

Lith breathed deep, trying to keep control of his ire. He was not used to this _anger_ he felt all of a sudden. There was no fear in him now; instead, there was shame and a bitter resentment at the Dwarf’s accusations, thrown into such sharp contrast by the hobbits' earlier simple acceptance. But Gimli was no Elf that Lith wronged merely by existing. He had no reason to feel ashamed now, for Lith had broken no laws of the Dwarves. Mithrandir, Aragorn and Elrond all said he was welcome here, that he still had some worth in this world. The hobbits had treated him the same. He would stand his ground.

‘You know I am called Lith,’ he reminded the Dwarf, trying to keep his voice level.

‘ _Lith’_ is not a name,’ retorted Gimli immediately. “Even for an Elf.”

‘I do not see why it matters to you what I call myself,’ snapped Lith.

‘It matters because I do not trust those who conceal themselves,’ the Dwarf growled. ‘There is something not right about you. Even the other Elves shun you, and one considered untrustworthy by their standards must be false indeed. Now I see you walking with Frodo and the hobbits, befriending them. If you are a danger to them I would know of it.’

‘It is not my duty to placate your lack of trust,’ Lith said. ‘Nor to subject myself to an interrogation. I mean no harm to any: Lith is the only name I have and you will have to be satisfied with it.’

'Now, listen here--' said Gimli, but he was interrupted.

‘Well, well,’ said another voice. 'And what has set the pair of you at odds so soon?'

It was Mithrandir. He came striding across the green lawn from the terrace. Clearly whatever matter had occupied him all morning was concluded. Lith had not known their disagreement had been within earshot of another, but the Dwarf's voice was very loud. Lith dropped his eyes at the wizard’s stern expression, but Gimli was not cowed, and merely redirected his ire.

‘This _Elf_ will not name his lands or his lineage,’ Gimli said. ‘And the only titles I hear spoken about him are ‘thief’ and ‘exile’! He is too friendly with the hobbits. He may be known to you, Gandalf, but I trust him not.’

‘And how would you know what is spoken about him?’ Mithrandir asked.

‘It is not hard to find one willing to translate into Common Speech the words I have heard muttered every time he is near _,_ ’ Gimli said. He rounded on Lith again. ‘But I do not judge others on rumour alone and I now give you a fair chance to defend your reputation. Tell me from whence you hail, or who is your lord. Prove that what they say about you is false.’

‘Gimli,’ Mithrandir said, warningly. 'This is neither the place nor time.'

Lith, of course, made no response which seemed to anger Gimli even more.

‘Your father’s name, at least!’ pushed the Dwarf. ‘Or do you mean to imply by your silence that he is of some shame to you, or that I am unworthy enough of your basic respect even to tell it? Perhaps you don't even know who your father is, or maybe he is a drunkard like Mirkwood’s feeble king!’

It had been such a good morning. The hobbits had lifted Lith’s spirits immensely; he had let himself be distracted for a little while from his pain, his uncertainty, the knowledge of all that he was and all that he could never be again. And now _this_. The deep anger he had long kept buried beneath barriers of steel now worn thin by days of fear and pain, by whispers and sneers and prejudice, and now by this Dwarf’s unwelcome insinuations, broke free all at once. Before Mithrandir could stop him, he launched himself at Gimli and they both hit the ground, hard. His arm shrieked with pain at the impact but he ignored it. 

‘Lith! Mithrandir cried, exasperated. 'By the stars, release him!’ He saw the wizard striding up towards them and Lith hissed at him, knowing and not caring that he sounded for all the world like an angry cat. Under his hands, Gimli growled, ready to throw the slighter Elf aside, but for the moment Lith had the advantage of surprise and still held him pinned.

‘Do you know what this means?’ Lith demanded. His hood had fallen back when he had tackled the Dwarf to the ground, and so he had but to turn his face to show in full the scars that marred it. Gimli paused in his struggle, taken aback. 

‘No. Why should I? Surely it just means you are careless in battle, as well as with your insults.’

‘It is the mark of shame,’ Lith said, low and tight. ‘It means that there is not one Elf in this world of less worth than I. It means that I am exiled from my home until the world ends, and the only honour I can do to my kin is to keep silent their names so that I do not sully them with my worthless tongue. So do not speak to me of _shame_ when you cannot possibly understand it!’

With that, Lith let go, rolled away and leapt up for a low hanging branch above. It was the work of a second to pull up into the branches of the weeping cedar and disappear from sight amongst the evergreen needles. 

Mithrandir did not call after him. Lith meant to flee through the canopy, to put quick miles between himself and this terrible Dwarf, but all of a sudden he found his arm was burning like it had been set aflame and his fingers would not move all. Perhaps he should not have had Frodo unbind the limb earlier but it was too late now, and he could climb no further until the pain passed. He held the arm close as he crouched on the tree limb, pressing his face in close to the trunk and feeling the sting of tears in his eyes. He wept silently in his fury, pain and helplessness. 

Below he heard Gimli’s voice. They no doubt thought him far away. 

‘That creature is dangerous, and quite mad. He has no honour, or respect for others. You saw how he attacked me!’

‘I saw,’ Lith heard Mithrandir sigh. ‘But I also heard all that passed between you, and you were not courteous to him either, Gimli Gloinsson. Explain to me, if you will, why his lineage matters to you so terribly.’

‘You know that for Dwarves, family and heritage are everything,' Gimli's voice said. 'I assumed the same to be true for Elves and men also, for I have heard no-one but the halflings fail to take their father’s or mother’s name into their own. For a Dwarf not to name his parentage upon meeting another would be unheard of. It implies insult both to the speaker’s family, and to the listener. One without kin or lineage cannot be trusted!’

‘Am I untrustworthy then, I who can give you no names of kin to sit after my own?’ the wizard snapped. 

Gimli muttered something incomprehensible. 

Mithrandir sighed. ‘Will it ease your ire if I tell you he means no insult? There are reasons that Lith cannot speak of lineage, and I assure you they are of no concern to you. There was also no need to brand him with the title of ‘thief’.’

‘I said nothing that hasn't been said by others,’ said the Dwarf, stoutly. ‘The Elves of this household glare at him and shun him, and none will speak his name. How do I know he is not a threat to us all, as they said at the Council?’

‘I thought you did not judge others according to rumour,’ Mithrandir said back. 

‘He is an exile by his own admission!’ Gimli scowled. ‘And no smoke is raised without fire to quicken it. In my home I am both a warrior and a craftsman; I know how to spot when something does not fit, and he does not fit at all. We Dwarves must delve deep into the heart of things, we fix and repair and defend; it is in the core of our nature as Mahal formed us. This _Lith_ is as a broken part in a mechanism and it grates my every instinct not to know his purpose, his intent. He now follows the hobbits around and I do not like it. You know of what Frodo Baggins carries! No sneak thief should be permitted anywhere near to him.’

‘He has been with the hobbits because I sent them to him, knowing their kindly hearts at least would not judge him unfairly,’ Mithrandir said, pointedly. ‘Remember, Master Dwarf, that you are a guest here. It is not your place to act in defence of this realm nor harass its inhabitants. The Lord of Imladris himself has accepted Lith, and that should be enough for all. Whatever lies in Lith’s past is his own affair, but I can promise you that he presents no threat now to any here. He may seem strange in comparison to others, no doubt, but he has a brave heart. Indeed not two weeks ago he saved the lives of two children and then after the Lord Aragorn’s too, at no insignificant risk to himself. There, I think, is the honour you are seeking, and he needs not a father’s name to cement it. Regardless, if you cannot find it in you to be civil to him, I suggest you keep well away from one another. Elrond will not tolerate brawling in his house, Gimli; this is not a tavern.’

Gimli at that finally lost a few sparks of his defiance. ‘I did not intend insult to our host,’ Gimli said, grudgingly. ‘And though I still question what a known villain is doing here in his house in these dangerous times, I will let the matter be, if you ask it.’

‘I do ask it.’

There was quiet for a moment. Lith saw their silhouettes through the cedar’s drooping needles, and Mithrandir had turned as if to walk away, but then Gimli spoke again in a more curious tone. ‘Gandalf. Did the Elf speak the truth in what he said? About the scars he bears and their meaning?’

‘He did,’ Mithrandir said, with a sigh. ‘Or at least, the truth as he sees it, which is rarely the same thing.’

‘How came he to acquire such a mark? No other Elves I have seen here have scars. It does not look like a wound received in battle.'

‘That is not something I am willing to discuss,’ said Mithrandir, shortly. ‘Nor is it information you have earned. For now I suggest you find a better outlet for your energies, Master Gimli, and leave Elrond’s other guests in peace. We will all soon find ourselves far away from Lith and you need not let him concern you any longer.’ 

Through the green needles, Lith saw Gimli bow shortly, in acceptance of the chastisement, and then at last he went back into the house. Mithrandir stayed on the award, looking out into the woods for a long time, as if seeking Lith amongst their branches. But he saw him not, and went away with a sigh.

Lith did not come back in from the trees for two days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lith refers to ‘Baggins’ as an abeneth (Sindarin, ab- [after] and eneth [name]). Having no understanding of the hobbitish tradition of familial surnames he is assuming Baggins is an honorific name, similar to the Quenya epessë of the High Elves. I don’t think we have any canon support for the use of a similarly complex naming structure amongst the Sindar/Silvans but Legolas himself is called Greenleaf by Gandalf and Galadriel as if it was an epessë, so I am taking that to mean the practice is at least somewhat reflected in those cultures, if not so widespread.
> 
> I was dreading trying to do the hobbits justice, but when I got to this section it was so much fun, I had an absolute blast.
> 
> And dear Gimli. Will Gandalf's warning put him off from this mystery?
> 
> ...................of course it won't.


	4. 4th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn and Arwen go to Gandalf with their discovery, but find they are not the first to know it. An unexpected arrival throws the Hidden Valley into disarray, and Aragorn realises he may have made a grave error.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A moment a lot of you were waiting for!

### 4th December 3018

When Arwen and Aragorn found Gandalf, the wizard was seated on a balcony off his reading room studying a leather-bound tome and a roll of maps. He looked up, rather surprised.

‘What on earth is the matter?’ said he, seeing their expressions.

‘It is Lith,’ said Aragorn. ‘Gandalf—we know who he is.’

‘You know who he _was_ ,’ Gandalf corrected at once, but he did not seem surprised at all. Instead, the wizard stood and went to the balcony's windows, closing them so that the conversation should not be overheard if any were to pass by beneath. ‘Well?’ he said when he turned back. ‘How did you put it together? I must say I rather thought you would have figured it out by now.’ 

Aragorn did not rise to the bait, though Arwen murmured, 'Did you, indeed.'

The wizard might make it sound otherwise, but it had not been an easy mystery to solve, and would not have been solved at all but for Arwen. As she had told Aragorn afterwards, when they had spoken two nights ago about the Bodadêldir the recollection of a name had come into her mind as if she had been drawn to it by some strange insight. It had been startling to even consider it, alarming almost, but the more Aragorn had talked, the more the pieces began to fit.

Lith’s age had been the first clue. Given the slow waning of the Elves in Middle-earth, and her people’s preference only to bear children in peacetime, elflings were all but unknown now on this side of the sea. The last children of the Eldar had been born during the Watchful Peace, and even then those that were as young as Aragorn thought Lith to be numbered only a handful. Then there were other clues: Lith’s mixed Silvan and Sindar heritage, his woodcraft skills, and that Lith had been cast out at least 60 years ago when Gandalf had found him in Fangorn. And so with each realisation, one name crystallised more clearly in Arwen’s mind; the name of a young Elf born in Mirkwood near the end of the Watchful Peace and who had died, it had been said, not 500 years later. But no ordinary Elf was he, and to even consider associating that poor dead Elf-child with crimes such as these would require careful verification before she gave her suspicion voice. Arwen had therefore proceeded with due caution, telling her thoughts to none. First, she had considered all other possible candidates, searching many accounts of the births and deaths of Elves in the past 700 years who could be found by mention in her father’s archives, and discounted each, one by one, until only that one name still remained. Now all that was needed was to cross-check all that could be found of that candidate in Elrond’s records with what Aragorn had learned of Lith’s tale, and they might have their answer. 

Upon reaching this point she had finally informed Aragorn of what she suspected, and together they had set to work. It was a slow task that took the best part of a day and a night, for they had few hard facts to work from. The isolationist ways of the Wood-elves meant little news ever came from Mirkwood's distant kingdom. But on that very morning they had found the last clue they needed. Arwen, it seemed, was right again.

Under the wizard’s sharp blue gaze, Aragorn began to pace, his mind ablaze. Arwen sat herself neatly in a chair, and began to speak. 'Aragorn has learned many clues about Lith,' she explained. 'And it put me in mind of one for whom everything seemed to fit, an Elf I heard had passed away some years ago. Then it was just a matter of confirming our suspicions in the library archives.'

'And what 'clues' were these?' asked the wizard. He had not yet asked for their conclusion.

‘I know Lith is very young,' Aragorn said. 'He once spoke of siblings, but he must be the youngest of them for his mother did not live much beyond his birth. He has the eyes of a Sinda, but the build and colouring of a Wood-elf, and he reverts to Nandorin when under stress as if it were his cradle-tongue. He has a way with birds and beasts, and his woodlore is better than any Ranger. He knows spells and curses in the Lost Tongue, and has the power to use them, which means he was not just a Sinda raised amongst Wood-elves but bears Silvan blood of his own from a powerful line. With that heritage, he could hail from either of the two woodland realms east of the mountains, but the Mirkwood envoys who came here for the Council were more than just frightened by his presence; they were insulted, as if either he or his crime was known to them. At the time I remember thinking that Lith and the Mirkwood messenger Luinmeord were so similar they could be brothers.’

‘They are not brothers,' said Gandalf. 

‘But they are still kin,’ Arwen said. ‘Because Lith is the Lost Prince of Mirkwood; Legolas Greenleaf, youngest child of Thranduil Oropherion and Nolwë, daughter of Lasbelyn.'

‘We have checked what felt like every record in the library,' Aragorn added, ’and there is but one record of Thranduil’s youngest son after the dragon fell, when his name was added to those lost at the Battle of the Five Armies, but not for some time after the fact. I know the Elvenking could not have been the only warrior who bore lingering wounds after the battle. But now we do not think Legolas died at all, nor sailed to the West. We think he was Unnamed and cast out. That is correct, is it not?'

Gandalf let out a long, slow stream of smoke. 'Yes,' he said simply. ‘Yes. Lith once bore that name.’ He now seemed sad, and no longer so amused by their temerity.

‘How is he not recognised?’ said Arwen. ‘Now that I know it I see Thranduil in every angle of him.’ 

‘Now you _know_ , Lady of Rivendell,’ said Gandalf. ‘You did not see it before, and neither would many, even amongst those who know the Elvenking better, for though he knows it not Lith has ever favoured his mother in looks and temperament. Indeed, few now would see the similarities should both father and son be standing before them side by side. After all, never has Thranduil forgone braids and boots, nor lowered himself to don worn burlap and rough-spun wool, and Lith has little of Thranduil’s haughty aspect or regal manner. And blindest are those whose minds are closed, no matter what their eyes might see. No-one wishes to look closely on a Bodadêldir, and if they do they see only other marks.’

Aragorn could not dispute the wizard's remarks. Though he and Arwen had been careful to corroborate this truth before they gave it voice, Aragorn had not truly needed the verification, for as soon as Arwen had spoken the name Thranduilion, recognition had struck him like a shaft of bright light. For not nine months past, Aragorn had been received in audience by Caranalder when he had delivered Gollum to captivity in Mirkwood, and he had seen Thranduil there too, though briefly. Father and son were very much alike. Though on the surface there was little now to link the stately royals of the Greenwood with the wild and nameless foundling that Mithrandir had taken in out of the woods, there was still something undeniable in the shape of the face, the curve of the brow, and the odd gleam of fire that sometimes burned up in Lith’s ocean eyes.

‘The Wood-elves knew him,’ Aragorn said, at last. ‘At the Council. Their hate was spiteful and vicious.’

'The messenger, Luinmeord,' Arwen agreed. 'He is the Prince Regent’s son.’

Gandalf nodded. ‘Luinmeord’s father, Caranalder, is now Thranduil's heir, for the king’s firstborn child, Sannel, was herald of Oropher and she perished beside him there before Mordor’s gates in Dagorlad. Caranalder therefore lost a sister and a grandfather, became heir to his father’s kingdom, took a wife, and fathered a child of his own, even before Legolas was born. Luinmeord and Legolas were not brothers, but so close were their ages that they were raised together as such.’ 

Gandalf sighed, and his face grew shadowed as if a gloaming cloud had veiled a bright star. ‘It was not...fortuitous that they met again, and I would not have brought Lith here had I known. I did not think Caranalder would send his own son to Rivendell with such a missive when any messenger would have done the task, but perhaps it was a show of strength in a time of such uncertainty.’

‘Lith is the Lost Prince of the Woodland Realm,’ Aragorn repeated to himself. Though he had listened to Arwen’s research, seen the records, even recognised the family resemblance, it was only now that the truth was really sinking in. ‘He is the Elvenking’s son. Royalty.’

‘He _was_ ,’ Gandalf reminded him. He sounded tired still, and sour, and very, very old. ‘He forfeited that heritage. Now he might as well not even be Elfkind at all.’

‘How?’ Aragorn asked. ‘How does such a thing come to pass that the king’s own child should be banished under such an unforgiving exile?’

‘For those answers you would have to ask Lith,’ Gandalf said. ‘And I very much doubt he will take kindly to the question. But you have developed quite the friendship in so short a time, so perhaps you have a better chance of recieving an answer than any other. In truth I do not think he remembers much of the event, and maybe that is a blessing.’

‘Nay, I will not ask,’ Aragorn said. ‘It is in the past, and Lith deserves to know that there are those who value him only for what he is now, not for what he was before, be that good or bad. I will not ask.’ 

But even as he stated his declaration, Aragorn could not help but wonder what Lith might tell him if he did. He tried, not for the first time, to picture Lith attacking another Elf in cold blood. Sending an arrow in an unwary back on a dark night, dropping poison into the wineglass of a scheming courtier, or attacking a servant in a blind fury...but the images wouldn’t come. Though he had seen Lith angry, scared, even fighting for his life, he still could not visualise his friend as a murderer. He had always felt there was something innocent about Lith, naïve perhaps, for all his competence and hardship and world-weariness. Perhaps Aragorn just did not want to risk his own delusions—and the glimmering hope of Lith’s innocence—to be shattered by a cold and violent reality.

‘Could you ever be content not to know?’ said Arwen. ‘You are not one to settle for half-truths, beloved, for all your patience and wisdom.’

Beside her, the glint in the wizard’s eye meant he knew too thought it highly unlikely that Aragorn would be able to let the matter rest.

‘But they are not my truths,’ Aragorn said. ‘I have no right to ask for them, just to satisfy my own curiosity. Not unless by pushing Lith to reveal it we might disclose an injustice? If there is any hope his situation can be altered then it would be worth it, if by knowing the truth we can somehow lessen the burden of exile upon him.’ 

‘No,’ said Gandalf. ‘Alas, I do not think there is hope of that, and for all that I am ever accused of meddling, I fear this time that doing so will end in nothing but pain and misery. The wounds of the past lie as deep scars in the skin of the present, but they are closing. Healing is near. I would ask you both to let it go. Think no further on these matters, and I urge you also to forget what you have learned this day. Few know of the truth of Lith’s Unnaming, and fewer still need to know of it. Lith is all he is now, and I do not think it will do him any good for the old past to be resurrected. Legolas is dead. We must let him rest in peace.'

* * *

That very evening found Aragorn and Arwen sitting on one of the terraces of meadow that lay between a slow curve of the silver river and the stone steps up to the house. It was a beautiful winter evening, cold and crisp. The black velvet of the cloudless sky was speckled with shooting stars, and ice frosted the grass blades with silver; the air was rich with the scent of woodsmoke and spiced wine, overlaying bark, pine needles and leaf mold as the trees settled down into their winter slumber. But beautiful as both the night and the Elven maid at Aragorn's side both were, this was not the romantic assignation it might otherwise have been. For one, they were still well within sight of the house, close enough that they were drenched within pools of soft lamplight and music spilling from its windows. And second, they were not altogether alone, for fast asleep on the grass by Aragorn’s feet was Lith. 

Lith had been avoiding the house since the morning after his last surgery and that afternoon had been the first time the wayward Elf had been spotted anywhere nearby in several days. Elrond had rather sternly corralled the meek Lith back to the infirmary to have the progress of his healing assessed, a process which had taken several hours and required another healing trance. Lith had, of course, not been resting his arm as instructed and the wound was angry and quite inflamed. After a lengthy treatment, Elrond had at last released his patient in the early evening with strict instructions to rest, and with a stern prohibition from tree-climbing, sparring, tool-use or anything else that might stress the tissues and tendons of the arm for seven days at least. Lith had listened to the restrictions with what seemed like silent acceptance, but whether he would abide by them or not was yet to be seen. 

This day Aragorn had been the one to collect Lith from the halls, and Arwen had gone with him. They had agreed between them that they would do as Gandalf asked and would say nothing to Lith of what they had learned, but Arwen had been determined nonetheless to meet the Elf properly. Despite the subdued and drowsy state left by the fading trance, Lith had retained enough social mores to greet the Lady of Rivendell politely, and then Arwen brought both Elf and Ranger back to her private sitting room to eat a quiet repast rather than face the stares in the dining hall again. Lith had been persuaded by the quietude of the surroundings, and Arwen’s graciousness, to eat a little, though he felt too unwell or overwhelmed to speak much. After they had eaten, despite clearly struggling with pain and weariness, Lith insisted that he was not tired and wished only for a breath of the night air beneath the trees to restore him. The couple offered to accompany him, but by the time Arwen had returned with Aragorn’s cloak to their meeting place on the steps from the house, Lith had fallen asleep, curled up on the ground beside where Aragorn sat. They briefly debated carrying the Elf back to his bed but decided in the end just to wait beside him until Lith awoke on his own. He was clearly more than comfortable here amongst the dry leaves and would come to no harm if they watched over him. Aragorn draped his cloak over the sleeping figure and then he and Arwen both settled onto the stone steps beside him to wait, hand in hand, speaking softly and listening to the sweet music of the Elves in the hall drifting into the night. 

Lith had been sleeping peacefully for some time when they heard the barely perceptible pad of bare feet approaching and the _tap-tap_ of Bilbo’s walking stick.

‘Dúnadan,’ greeted the old hobbit. ‘Lady Undómiel. I just came out for a sniff of the air before bed. What a sky tonight!’

Aragorn looked up as Bilbo leaned onto his stick. A burst of bright silver flashed across the sky near to the clustered gems of Telumendil; it flared briefly and then was gone. Another falling star.

‘Elbereth blesses us,’ Arwen agreed. They watched the falling stars together quietly for a moment before Bilbo spotted Lith in the grass by Aragorn's feet. 

'Ho, what's this?' Bilbo exclaimed softly. He seemed most amused. Lith did not stir. 'You seem to have attracted a woodland sprite, Aragorn! What on earth is he doing here, or has he for some reason grown some hobbit sense about sleeping in trees?'

'Lith has been receiving the attentions of Elrond's healers,' Aragorn explained. 'He's been rather overcome with tiredness, that’s all.'

‘Oh, he's getting that hand seen to at last?' said Bilbo. 'That _is_ good news.'

The old hobbit saw both Aragorn and Arwen look at each other. ‘Oh, I know about his bad hand. It’s not hard to spot if you watch him, for all that he tries to hide it. Some old war wound, I’d wager.’ 

Then Bilbo sighed. ‘Poor lad,’ he said, and sat down on a bench. ‘I wish I had paid more attention to him years ago. There probably wasn’t anything a silly old burglar could do back then, but I suspected something wasn’t right.’

‘What do you mean?’ Arwen asked, but for Aragorn, realisation crashed like a thunderclap. 

‘Bilbo, you met Lith before he came to Hobbiton with Gandalf, did you not? You have known who he is all along!’

‘Well, of course,’ said Bilbo, with some satisfaction. ‘He’s the son of the Woodking.’

‘It took us two days and many dozens of my father’s books to learn this,’ Arwen said, slightly pointedly. 

‘Why did you not tell us?’ Aragorn said.

‘You didn’t ask,’ Bilbo said, matter-of-factly.

‘You encountered him during your travels through Mirkwood?‘ Arwen asked. 

'Oh, yes,’ said Bilbo. ‘He didn’t see me, of course, and I didn’t get a good look at him, but we talked as well as we could through the cell bars. It wasn’t hard to work out who he was when Mithrandir showed up with him at my front door all those years later, not once we’d washed all the smoke and ashes off and I had gotten a good look at him. He might be a ragtag scrap of a thing but he’s still the spitting image of his father, even a sun-blind goblin could tell you that. Poor lad. Barely said a word the first three days in Bag End he was so frightened, if you can believe it!’ The old hobbit shook his head with a sigh. ‘Quite the sorry business.’

‘And he was guarding the cells?' Aragorn mused. That confirmed much of what they thought they already knew; Lith’s banishment must have happened around the time of the death of Smaug, for Legolas Greenleaf had been declared killed in the battle that followed. 'That was a strange chance.’ 

‘My dear fellow,’ said Bilbo, indignantly. ‘Sometimes I wonder if you listen to my tales at all. I was never in the cells in the Woodhall, for I gave all of the king’s guards the slip using my ring. _He_ was the one in the cell and _I_ was outside.’

‘He was imprisoned in his father’s own dungeons?’ Arwen asked, softly and with sorrow in her voice. ‘Whatever for?’

‘Upsetting the king, I assumed,' Bilbo said. 'I spent three weeks wandering around the Woodhall looking for a way to rescue Thorin and the others. I picked up quite a few secrets and not-so-secrets. I knew well enough by then that King Thranduil had quite the temper from the way he dealt with the Dwarves. But he was not much different to his own people, strict and exacting you might say, especially when he was in his cups which was more often than not. At least, that was what I saw. But yes, I used to talk to the lad in his cell when I was exploring in the dungeons. We didn’t have much language in common between us then, for he only spoke a little of mine and I barely a few words of Elvish in those days, but I got the impression that being locked up for a few days was nothing out of the ordinary for him. They let him out after a week or so and I didn’t see him afterwards ‘till Gandalf bought him to Bag End. I never thought for a moment he was in any real trouble or I should have taken him with us when we all escaped. But, well, the Elf-king is very proud and more stubborn than boiled rock, though he was very generous to the people of the lake and thoughtful enough in his own way once all the battle and horribleness was over. I became quite fond of him. But whatever the truth of it all is, there was bad fblood there, bad enough that his own father turned him out and not a one amongst all the other Wood-elves did anything about it, and that's not right, not right at all. Perhaps Lith is better off now far away from the lot of them.' 

Seeing Aragorn's look, Bilbo added, 'No, I don't know what happened to cause it, and in truth it’s none of my business. Of course, old Gandalf never says anything, but I think there must have been something that Lith got the blame for, some accident.'

Aragorn was quiet for a moment. 'An accident,' he said. 'I wonder.'

Bilbo, looked fondly down at Lith's pale head. 'He's got a good heart, and anyone that can't see that is blinder than a hog in a sack, as they say in Bywater. That's all that matters in the end. I hope Master Elrond lets him live on here in Rivendell, although I fear he might find it dreadfully dull.'

'We might all wish for a little more dull before too long,' Arwen said, with a soft smile. 'I will petition my father, for I too would grant Lith peace if I could. I would grant us all peace if it was within my power.'

* * *

And so the days passed, as they were wont to do, in a haze of crisp, cool mornings and frosty, cloudless nights as winter crept on. No snow had yet fallen in the valley, but it lay thickly on the peaks of the neighbouring mountains and sent chill east winds down to curl around the hobbits’ ears. Lith still kept to himself, although over the next few days he gradually began to be seen more and more often around the house, walking with Gandalf or with the hobbits, or sitting near to Aragorn as he worked. Once it was clear Lith had no intention to murder them all in their beds, and that Elrond was not going to submit to any petition to cast Lith out, slowly the other Elves of the household too became gradually to tolerate his presence. They no longer cursed at him or walked away when he came close, and though they were not friendly, a few of the Elves emboldened by the example of their Evenstar had even spoken to him.

Elrond’s medical care too was proceeding well, for Lith had now been weaned completely off the daily pain-bite dosages and his arm was healing. Lith seemed so far to be coping well without the pain medication and also reportedly abiding by the strictures placed upon him to let his arm rest. It was too soon to see if the surgeries had yet been successful in restoring any more function to the limb, for it would still be swollen and irritated for a time yet, and Elrond had kept the hand splinted, wishing to discourage Lith from attempting to use it before the tissues had a chance to knit. But there was cause for hope.

Aragorn was pleased by the improvement in both Lith's bodily health and of his slow acclimatisation to the valley, for both Aragorn and Gandalf were both much occupied of late with preparations for their forthcoming labours and did not have much time to spare for any of their friends. By the end of the first week of December, two more parties of scouts had returned, and the news was not what they had hoped; the heavy snows had already made the pass through the mountains by the source of the Gladden River untraversable. If the Ringbearer and those that accompanied him had hoped to go that way, they would now need to find another path to the east. The Redhorn Gate was still open and the High Pass too, for Thranduil’s people had returned that way only recently, but orcs were gathering again in the vale of the Anduin, and the scouts from the Gladden Fields and Rhosgobel had not yet returned and there was no certainty now that travel east of the mountains through Wilderland would still be safe. There was no sign yet of the return of Elladan and Elrohir from the south. 

Aragorn had seen little of Lith himself over those days until he attended the Halls of Healing to have the condition of the wolf bite checked. Aragorn was not concerned for the injury for he could put his full weight on the leg again once more and the skin seemed to bear no inflammation. Upon examination, the healer Rínion too declared the wound healing to be satisfactory, as it was closing well and cleanly. In another week, it would be all but healed. Duty done, Aragorn had just made to leave, stepping out through the arch which led from the halls, when something made him glance back. Across the ward he saw Lith emerging from the door to Elrond's study and he was carrying something in his hand. The Elf looked around but did not seem to see Aragorn, and then he hurried away through the room and out of sight. Aragorn went cold, struck with a horrible sense of disappointment. 

‘Be at peace, Aragorn,’ said a voice from behind him. Elrond stood a little way off and must have seen all.

'Elrond.' Aragorn said, feeling helplessness and a touch of dark disappointment. It was little over a week since they had returned from the wild, and he had just been thinking that his friend was doing so well. And yet here Lith was, slipping into Elrond’s herb stores, caving once again to his addiction when he had barely even tried to live without the crutch of the pain-bite.

‘Hush,’ said Elrond, softly. ‘Just watch.’

Aragorn looked back towards the halls. A moment later Lith returned again, walking quickly with his head low. In his right hand Aragorn could now see he was carrying a small dish on which was a pestle and mortar and a few other tools, and there was a stack of white cloth under his arm. Rínion came in after and walked past Lith, making no comment on his presence as if it was expected. Lith went back into Elrond’s study with the tray of items, and was out of sight again. Aragorn forced himself to pause and re-evaluate what he was seeing.

‘You have him working here?’

‘For a time, yes,’ said Elrond, and beckoned Aragorn to follow him away. ‘Lith came to see me some days ago with the concern that he did not feel he had made suitable penance for his actions when last he was here. I accepted seven days of his labour in the halls to balance out the debt he felt was owing. For now Rínion has him making bandages and preparing tea blends; he has a good eye for plants and herbs. But you need not fear that he has fallen back into his old ways, for I have spoken to him of the dangers of being near to medications again and he has convinced me that he will not falter in his abstinence.’

‘It is too soon for such a test,’ said Aragorn. ‘He has only been free of the naegranaeth for days, and is still in pain. What if he has not the strength to resist it?’

‘He says that he does. Our trust in his self-belief is just as important to his healing as surgery and therapeutic stretches, and I would give him the chance to prove to himself, and to us, that he can rise above this.’

‘It is too soon,’ said Aragorn, again.

‘I have not left him unwatched,’ Elrond said. ‘But you must trust my instincts in this. I know that--’

‘My Lord Elrond!’

Elrond broke off at the interruption, and both he and Aragorn turned to look as one of Glorfindel’s border wardens, Minuialwen, strode into view. 

‘My lord,’ she said, with a quick salute. She was carrying an unstrung bow in one hand and her long braids were streaming behind her as if she had been running. ‘My lord, riders have been seen entering the valley. They are moving at haste and have injured amongst them.’

Elrond wasted not one moment. ‘Rínion!’ he called, returning to the archway to the healing halls. ‘Rínion, we may have wounded arriving; call the other healers, bring emergency supplies and stretchers to the front gate.’

‘What is their number and origin?’ Aragorn asked as Minuialwen led he and Elrond back in haste towards the main courtyard.

‘I know not, my lord. The messenger Ialla sent just spoke of several Elves.’

‘Elladan and Elrohir?’ suggested Aragorn. The brethren were not expected back yet for some weeks but a loose grasp of punctuality was another commonality they shared with Mithrandir. Minuialwen just shook her head. She did not know. 

The alert from the scouts had been barely received in time. They had not been in the courtyard for more than a few minutes, long enough for Erestor to join them and for Rínion’s team of healers, including Lith, to arrive with stretchers and triage supplies, when the sound of hoofbeats echoed up from the road below as the travellers crossed the bridge. But this was not the return of Elrond’s sons unlooked for, for there were many horses to be heard, perhaps a dozen approaching. Aragorn glanced at Elrond, but the Elf-lord’s thoughts could not be read from his face. 

Then the riders passed into the courtyard through the arched gateway. Escorted by wardens of the outer marches was a party of seven Elves, some riding double, all travel-stained and battered, and all bearing wounds of some variety. Three seemed to be seriously injured and slumped barely conscious on their mounts. Aragorn fell to assisting the healers immediately as they eased injured riders down from horses and onto stretchers, stemming blood and supporting broken limbs sufficiently that they would not be jostled on transfer to the halls. So focused was he on the present task that not until Aragorn heard their leader speak did he even pay attention to the identity of the arrivals.

‘Lord Elrond,’ said an Elven voice, one with a distinctly Silvan accent. ‘I apologise for returning here unannounced.’

‘Luinmeord Caranalderion,’ said Elrond as he rose from beside a stretcher. ‘What happened here? You departed here some days ago; we thought you safe across the mountains by now.

Luinmeord of Mirkwood came forward unsteadily, leaning against his captain for support. He had a bloody gash across his brow. ‘There was an avalanche and a rockfall that trapped us in the pass. We barely escaped with our lives. We could not go on, our wounded...I must beg your hospitality once again.’

‘Of course, of course; let us see to your hurts and then you will tell us all that occurred,’ Elrond said, calmly, but Aragorn was already looking for Lith. He had come along with the other healers but now he was standing at the foot of the steps beside one of the stretchers, holding a pack of bandages. He seemed to be frozen, staring in wide-eyed shock at his kinsman and the other Wood-elves who had appeared so suddenly back into their lives. In the confusion and hubbub, they had not yet noticed him. Aragorn went quickly to Lith, taking the bandages from his hand. 

‘Go, quickly,’ he said, low. ‘They cannot see you here. Go to Gandalf’s rooms; stay out of sight. I will find you there.’

Lith looked up again, once, nodded, and then he darted back up the stairs and out of sight. In the chaos, none saw him go.

Collectively, the seven Wood-elves in Luinmeord’s company were in bad shape. The worst injured was the scout, Andreth, who had been ahead on the path when the rockfall had begun and suffered a crushed leg and hip, and had been weak and close to death when the border guards had found the Wood-elves travelling slowy back to the valley. Two others had broken bones and there were numerous instances of gashes and bad bruising, as well as general exhaustion, hunger and the effects of exposure. Elven folk may be resistant to cold and physical hurts, but even they could not endure such extreme conditions for days without penalty. As Elrond, Aragorn and the other healers worked to stabilise the wounded, the Wood-elves told them of what had happened. Although the route had been clear when they had started their journey across the High Pass, a heavy snowstorm in the night created an avalanche which hit just as they were crossing the icefields. The party had been trapped for several days by the fallen rock and ice which had blocked their path and had not long since dug themselves free. There was no way to make it across the mountains now and so they had started the return journey back to Imladris. Three of their horses had been lost, and they had been forced to travel slowly together, not daring to risk sending one or two riders on alone for aid. No-one said it aloud, but all knew how fortunate they all were that only horses were lost and no Elves too had perished.

It took some time to assess the wounded but at last Elrond was content that none would succumb to their injuries. Andreth was of the greatest concern, for the snapped bones had been badly jostled by the journey and risked healing unevenly; he would need surgery immediately to straighten the limb. Those who were least injured—one of the archers called Spennathûl and a Sinda Elf of the company of quite astonishing stature known as Míon—were released to guest quarters to rest while the others were retained within the halls for observation. Aragorn managed to catch Elrond in a quiet corner as he prepared to begin the surgery. 

‘Elrond,’ he began, low. ‘Lith--’ but the Elf-lord was already ahead of him. 

‘I know,’ he said, just as quietly as he pulled on clean healer’s robes. ‘I sent Erestor to move him to some other rooms so Thranduil’s folk can be housed in their old talan chambers again; they will expect no less and cannot see him there. I doubt it will do more than delay the inevitable for we cannot hope to keep Lith's presence here secret for long. But confrontation or not, none of Luinmeord’s company will now be leaving again before the spring.’

‘When Luinmeord learns you permitted Lith sanctuary here, there may be trouble,’ Aragorn warned.

‘Let me worry about that,’ said Elrond, as he pinned his hair back. ‘Just keep Lith out of their sight for as long as you can. My healers will tell them nothing of it, but others here will.’ He shook his head. ‘ _Ai!_ As if we did not already have enough to deal with.’

* * *

Arwen was waiting for Aragorn outside the healer’s halls when he was finally able to leave. Together they hurried to the oldest part of the house where Elrond and his family resided for here also were Gandalf’s rooms, and there they hoped to find Lith, if he was not already gone, fleeing from the Valley in his fear. But their concerns were not fully realised, for when they arrived Lith was still present, though he was pacing to and fro across the wizard’s small reading study, all but brimming over with agitation.

‘Lady Arwen. Aragorn,’ Lith greeted them, seeming even more flustered at the sight of the Lady of Imladris. ‘Mithrandir is not here. Do you have news?’

‘A little,’ Aragorn said. As they entered he saw Lith's backpack and coat leaning by the door, as if ready at a moment's notice.

‘The Wood-elves,’ Lith pressed. ‘They will all live?’

‘Yes,’ Aragorn said, slowly. ‘There are some serious injuries amongst them but they will all survive.’

‘Who?' Lith demanded, anxiously. 'How bad is it?’

‘The scout, Andreth, broke a leg, and another, I believe her name was Tinnudoliel, suffered a fracture of the sternum and collarbone. Several have cracked or broken ribs from the rockfall. Luinmeord has a head wound and some severe bruising.’

‘And Almscella? The others?’ Lith demanded.

‘She has a broken arm. Others have minor injuries only.’

Lith nodded, returning anxiously to his pacing. He seemed comforted to hear Aragorn’s assessment that all the Elves would live, but Aragorn would not have been surprised to know the relief came with a sour aftertaste of old fear and loss. He could see the fingertips on Lith’s left hand flexing; his hand must be aching again.

Lith turned suddenly to Arwen. ‘What will Lord Elrond do now?’ he asked.

‘My father shall care for their hurts,’ said Arwen, ‘and they shall be welcome here until they can return home. If the pass cannot be cleared, that will be in the spring.’

Lith nodded again, looking unsurprised. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘I will go now.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ Arwen asked.

‘If I leave now,’ Lith explained. ‘Luinmeord need never know I was granted sanctuary in Imladris.’ He went over to the door and pulled on his coat.

‘I would not have one guest drive away another,’ Arwen stated, with some alarm. ‘And neither would my father. You are no less welcome now than you were this morning, Lith. This changes nothing.’

‘I do not want to be the cause of trouble,’ said Lith. He picked up his backpack and swung it onto his right shoulder. It looked smaller and emptier than Aragorn recalled. ‘It is better there is no delay. I will go at once.’ He bowed to Arwen. ‘I thank you and Lord Elrond for your hospitality, my lady--’

‘You cannot set out anywhere at this time of night, Lith,’ interrupted Aragorn, now truly alarmed. ‘For one thing, you have not said goodbye to Gandalf, or Bilbo and the hobbits. And you have promised Elrond five more days of aid in the halls. Your bow is not yet repaired. You do not even have shoes!’

Lith glanced down at his bare feet as if noticing for the first time that he had worn no footwear in all the days they had been in the Valley. Of course, being so fleet of foot as Elven kind were he scarcely needed them, but Aragorn did now wonder if perhaps instead Lith had never built up the courage to go back to the cobblers to collect the boots Aragorn had delivered there for repair. Something would have to be done about that. But regardless, this was no way to begin a journey into the Wild. 

‘I cannot stay here with the Wood-elves,’ Lith said by way of answer. ‘No good will come of it.’

Aragorn frowned. ‘They do not yet even know you are here. At first it may be a shock, but the folk of Imladris are learning to accept you, and I believe so too will the Wood-elves.’

‘They won’t,’ said Lith. ‘They can’t.’

‘You cannot know that,’ pressed Aragorn, willing his stubborn friend to see reason. But before Lith could reply there was a sound of footsteps outside and the door to the study opened again, admitting Gandalf in a swirl of grey robes. He did not seem terribly surprised to find his rooms already occupied.

‘Ah, good,’ he said upon seeing Lith, relieved. ‘You are here. Erestor is fussing terribly.’

Lith turned to Gandalf with a look of distress on his face and began to talk urgently in his own lilting tongue. The wizard answered soothingly in the same language, and then rested a hand on Lith’s shoulder, a solid comfort. Lith said something else in a tone that was beseechingly, and Aragorn did not need to understand the words to know of what they spoke.

‘If Lith is proposing to leave the Valley,’ he interjected. ‘Gandalf, you must tell him this is not necessary; he will not listen to us.’

‘That is because you do not understand!’ Lith burst out, but Gandalf was shaking his head.

‘I rather think, my lad,’ said the wizard, slowly, ‘that Aragorn and Lady Arwen understand rather more of this matter than you realise.’

Lith went still. He glanced between the group of them, uncertain. ‘What do you mean?’

Aragorn stepped forward. He had not intended to reveal what they knew to Lith now, or perhaps ever. Gandalf himself had warned them against doing so. Still, the truth will out, and the situation could hardly be worse. Perhaps it would bring Lith some comfort to know that they need not speak in secrets and half-truths here.

‘Lith,’ Aragorn said. ‘We understand, because we know about who you were. Before the exile.’

All the colour drained out of Lith’s face. He pulled out of Mithrandir’s grip and stepped back from them all. ‘What?’ he whispered. 

‘We found out who you were.’ Aragorn repeated, slowly. ‘There is no need for concealment any more; you may speak freely.’

Lith looked to Mithrandir. ‘You did not...?’ he began in a dazed voice.

‘I did not tell them,’ Gandalf said, gravely. ‘The lady learned it from study of Elrond’s records and some clever guesswork. They came to me with their discovery some days ago and that was the first I knew of the matter.’

Lith just shook his head a little, seemingly in disbelief. The pack slid off his shoulder and fell from his nerveless grip. Aragorn started to get a sickened feeling in his gut. This had not been the reaction he had hoped for.

Arwen spoke next, stepping slowly towards the stricken Elf. ‘We know what the Wood-elves returning here means to you,’ she began, ‘and how hard it must be to see them, for you yourself were a child of the Woodland Realm. Lith, we know of your parentage, and that Luinmeord is your kin, your brother-son. We know your name was--’

‘Stop!’ Lith cried out, suddenly cutting her off. ‘Stop, please.’

Arwen went still and did not finish. The name she had not given voice to, the name under which Lith had died, was left hanging unspoken and silent in the air between the four of them like a ghost. Lith put his hands over his face. 

‘Lith, this knowledge changes nothing,’ Aragorn said. ‘Except that we understand a little better what is happening. Elrond has granted you sanctuary in his home; none can dispute that and I should not like to see any try. Your place here is not in question.’

Lith just shook his head but made no reply, still hiding his face. Gandalf said nothing.

It was very quiet in the room. The tall windows behind Lith showed evening falling purple and then blue along the shadowed curve of the valley. The glittering lights of the pavilions sent a soft glow into the deepening shade of night, but Aragorn scarcely heeded the beautiful sight, suddenly consumed by guilt and the sense that they had made a terrible mistake. He met Arwen’s eyes, but she looked even more ill at ease than he. The last thing they had wanted was to cause Lith more pain and distress, and yet though he was attempting to hide it, it was quite clear to see. 

‘I am sorry,’ Aragorn said. ‘We did not mean to surprise you so suddenly with this, and not when there is so much that must be dealt with. But please, Lith; do nothing tonight, I beg you. Wait to make any decision until morning when we can speak with Lord Elrond.’ 

Lith lowered his hands but he said nothing and looked down at the floor. 

‘Regardless of whether it is better to leave or otherwise,‘ said Gandalf at last, softly, ‘I do not think there is anywhere _to_ go, Lith, not now. This valley may not seem like much of a sanctuary to you at present, but our enemy stretches his arm towards us, and one by one our escape routes are being cut off. Few will leave here again now. Here we are sitting in a fortress. Outside it is getting dark.'

Arwen glanced at the wizard. ‘You think the rockfall the Wood-elves encountered was not natural?’ she said.

‘I do not know,’ said Gandalf, and he looked troubled. ‘Suffice to say the enemy has many powers at his command, and many spies in his service. It will be to his advantage to isolate those that oppose him, and now another route across the mountains is closed to us.’

‘Then what am I to do?’ said Lith. He was rubbing at his wrist again, absently. ‘Luinmeord is here, he is _here_ , and….’

‘You will not leave,’ said Arwen, fiercely. She had reached the end of her patience with his guilt and self-recriminations. ‘I will not hear of it.’

Lith at least seemed to recognise a battle lost before it was fought. He ducked his head, unhappily. ‘Yes, my lady,’ he said.

‘I do not care what laws of our culture this contravenes; I will not have any compelled from this house against their will without reason,’ Arwen said. ‘Not again. I shall speak to my father about informing Luinmeord of your presence so the Wood-elves will know there are no secrets here. In the meantime, Lith; lodge here with Mithrandir if he allows or I can command Erestor to find you new rooms of your own?’

‘Do not trouble the seneschal, my lady,’ said Gandalf, smiling. ‘He has many demands on his time at present. Lith and I shall make do quite well here for now.’

Arwen nodded. ‘Very well. Then I think we are all agreed to do nothing until morning at least. Everything will look brighter then.'

Lith hung his head, and looked unhappily at his own feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone that leaves a comment letting me know you read and enjoyed, it means so much to me to know people are following along, and enjoying! It does make it all worthwhile x


	5. 7th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn offers a much-owed apology. The hobbits and Lith talk languages. Lith gets a few surprises and finds reason for hope. An unexpected pair help him out of a bad situation.

### 7th December 3018

All Lith’s choices seemed ill.

He had lingered overlong in Imladris, there was no doubt about that. But how could he leave when that meant walking away from Mithrandir again, abandoning his nascent friendship with Aragorn, with the hobbits. Leaving meant a return to his lonely solitude, only this time with the ever growing likelihood of encountering ringwraiths out in the wilds, or another enemy perhaps even more terrible or more numerous than these. And in the end where could he go? Would anywhere truly be safe from the war that was breaking all around? But if he stayed...if he stayed, that just meant the all but certain knowledge that he would have to face his kinsmen and former friends again. And that fear was less abstract than the other, and far more immediate. He had learned the hard way that flight was his only defense, and it had served him well in the past.

Mithrandir and Arwen were standing by the study’s oaken table speaking quietly together, but Lith felt Aragorn’s eyes on him, watching him closely. 

‘I would ask to speak with you a moment alone, Lith,’ Aragorn said at last, quietly. ‘Would you come with me?’ 

The man went out of the doorway and into the walkway of the cloister, and Lith followed without a word, leaving the others in the study behind. Aragorn walked on a little way and then paused beside one of the tall arches. The open window looked out across the roofs and cupolas to the winter valley beyond lying wrapped in the shades of night. The pillars of the loggia here were grown all around with knotted vines that dropped a fine scatter of little yellow leaves across the stone. Imladris was achingly beautiful but Lith did not want to stay here any more. 

‘Lith,’ Aragorn said. ‘I would speak with you a moment about what just occurred. I wish to apologise that Arwen and I searched into your past without your permission. While we wanted nothing but to know you better, I fear we overstepped the bounds of both courtesy and friendship. We thought your anonymity was an imposition on you, and not a choice, and thus we did not respect it as we ought. Forgive us?’

Lith flinched almost imperceptibly, and looked away. There was no reason why the actions of Aragorn and Arwen should feel like a betrayal of trust. They had given no oaths, nor were they beholden to conceal his secret shame. He had just never imagined that they would take it upon themselves to rummage through the shattered fragments of his past life, to tear open those wounds in his heart that were so barely healed. He did not know why they would _want_ to. 

‘It is not _my_ past,’ Lith said at last. ‘I have no claim to it. There is nothing to forgive.’ 

‘Forgive us for causing you hurt then, for I see that we did and that I regret most utterly.’

Lith nodded. The apology of course was both grave and sincere, but he could not pay it full mind, not right now. Almost absentmindedly, he said, ‘Yes, of course.’

‘I sense something still troubles you,’ Aragorn said after a moment, clearly observing his distraction. ‘I know I have no right to offer after our recent trespass, but I will listen if you wish to share your thoughts.’

Lith breathed out a soft sigh, almost a breath of a laugh. His left hand aching and he found himself holding the wrist, tightly. ‘It is Luinmeord, of course,’ he said. ‘And Almscella, and all of them. It is not just that they are here. They are hurt, and I worry for them.’

‘You know them well, then?’ said Aragorn. ‘I had wondered if they were your shieldbrothers of old.’

Lith nodded, and somehow, despite the too recent sting of Aragorn and Arwen’s unwelcome intrusion, despite their careless disregard of his decades of secrecy and fear, and in defiance of Elven law and of all good sense, Lith found he _wanted_ to speak of it. Aragorn’s invasions into his privacy were surprisingly easy to forgive for he knew they were borne of nothing but curiosity and a tenacious pursuit of friendship. Somehow Lith trusted Aragorn still, and now so many of his secrets were known to the man that there seemed little sense in refusing to give up these few small details, when they would be easy enough to find out through other means. Lith took a breath, and he let go.

‘Many of them were in the same company as I,’ Lith confessed. ‘The southern border guard. We fought side by side. Tinnudoliel was my teacher when Luinmeord and I were learning the bow as children. And Almscella and Iorthon fought at my back on the slopes of Erebor as we were overrun by--’

He cut himself off suddenly, pained by the bitterness of that recollection: the blood and the screams, the unforgiving and unceasing tide of the enemy that poured across the plains before the Lonely Mountain. The horde of the orcs, in number uncountable, had swept across them like a dark wave, consuming all in its path and drawing man and Elf beneath the dark currents of a deadly undertow. Lith had been young then, yes, but no innocent to death. Born into a kingdom besieged by darkness, to a family already torn apart by war, Lith had ever known the touch of that shadow. And he had dealt death by his own hand too, from the moments of his very first breath, and then after during long patrols of the kingdom’s southern border, slaughtering the many evils that came crawling out of the ruins in the south or spawned in the shadows beneath the trees. Elves of the Woodland Realm were honed from infancy to lethal precision: even the youngest among them knew how to track and stay concealed, how to heed the whispers of the trees, how to blend into the forest until the time came to put the crawling filth of Dol Guldur to the sword, the arrowhead, and the cleansing flame, and then how to disappear again afterwards like a shade. The creeping darkness of the forest had long ago stolen the youth from Mirkwood’s children, but though they had been warriors, few of them had seen _war_ until Erebor. Then came carnage on a scale that none but those few who remembered the slaughter at Dagorlad could have pictured. 

Lith dragged his thoughts back from the battle of the Mountain, his mind shying unbidden away from the blacker horror which came so soon after. When he glanced up again, Aragorn was watching him with those all-too-insightful eyes. 

‘I never thought I should see them again,’ Lith said, at last. ‘And then there they were at the Council. I saw them then and I had hoped-- but it does not matter. Now they are returned again and I do not know what will happen.’ He bore no illusions of reconciliation. Lith knew full well there would never be forgiveness or redemption for one such as him. All he wanted was _peace,_ and yet ever the past hounded him, punishing him over and over again.

‘I cannot picture what it must be like to be in this situation,’ Aragorn said. ‘For you, or for them. I do not doubt Luinmeord will find your presence difficult at first, but the People of the Wood are brave and of good heart. I do not believe this prejudice against you will prevail.’ The man sighed, and his face was very grim as he continued. ‘Lith. I know we have made a grave error against you this day, but I do not falter in my commitment to our friendship. I will pry no further into your past, and I promise you that if you do not chose tell me of it freely then I will ask nothing of your crime. It truly is none of my business, and I would not have you feel it defines you in my eyes. But please, for the sake of our friendship, do not flee from us this time. Stay, and let us test the courage of your kinsmen together. You are not alone now. Stay.’

* * *

Lith stayed, but he did not sleep that night. Long after Aragorn and Arwen had left and the wizard had retired to his bed, Lith remained in the reading study, sitting on the window ledge and looking out across the valley. In the direction of the oak tree where the Wood-elves talan rooms lay he saw the soft glow of lanterns late into the night.

Though the confinement chafed at his spirit, Lith did not leave Mithrandir’s rooms the next day either. Aragorn and Arwen had gone away for some days, the wizard had told him, and Lith dared not go out into the grounds of the house alone in case Luinmeord or the others saw him. The rest of the house was a little better proposition, for even if he avoided his Silvan brethren, the residents would be stirred up like a kicked nest of ants and he would once again be the object of endless stares and speculation. But the wizard would not let Lith hide for long, and the morning of the day after, Gandalf insisted that Lith accompany him to the library. Lord Elrond, Mithrandir assured him, would not permit his decision to offer Lith sanctuary here to be contested, but even with that assurance, Lith kept his hood raised and his head down as they went through the halls. No-one that they passed spoke to Lith and if the Wood-elves were about in the house he did not see them.

‘Now,’ the wizard said as they arrived at the hallway which led to the libraries. ‘Now, I have a task for you. Elrond thinks you should avoid the healing halls for now while Luinmeord is in occupany, and so he has transferred the days of labour you promised to me to fill, if that is acceptable to you. It just so happens that Bilbo is researching a number of old documents in Elrond’s library, and he could use some assistance from a more experienced speaker of Elvish. He asked for my aid but I am afraid I am far too busy. I promised him you would assist.’

‘I am not sure I am suited for such a task,’ said Lith, uncertainly. ‘What sort of documents?’

‘Now there I really have no idea,’ said the wizard. ‘I expect there are texts of history and lore, some songs, perhaps the odd map or two. Most likely, knowing our hobbit, it is poetry. Are you up to the task?’

When they arrived at the library, Bilbo was not alone, for in fact Frodo and Merry were both there, and all three were pouring over an old map with an air of academic zeal. 

‘Lith!’ Bilbo called as they entered. He seemed in very good spirits. ‘And Gandalf too. How are you both this morning, mmy friends?’

‘Very well, thank you,’ said the wizard. ‘But alas, I cannot stay for long. I merely came to deliver your translator, as promised.’

‘Excellent, excellent,’ said Bilbo, and then addressing Lith, ‘Come on then and find a chair, my lad. There’s plenty to do.’

Mithrandir gave Lith’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and then he was striding away again and out of sight.

Lith loitered just inside the doorway looking around. He seldom saw the four hobbits apart. ‘Sam and Pippin are not here?’ he asked.

‘Oh, they’ve got no heads for this sort of thing,’ said Merry, waving to the map. ‘They went to visit Bill. He’s been missing the company, or so says Sam.’

‘Well, Bill’s never been so far away from home before either, I shouldn’t think,’ said Frodo. ‘I’m sure he’s having a marvellous holiday. But either way, he’ll be too fat to walk when we leave if those two keep feeding him treats.’

‘Who is Bill?’ Lith asked, confused. ‘Is he another hobbit?’

The three hobbits in the room fell into gales of laughter. ‘No!’ cried Merry. ‘He’s a pony, of course. We bought him in Bree when all my others got frightened off by the wraiths.’

‘You have a pony?’ Lith said, interest peaked. ‘Can I see him?’

‘Whenever you want,’ said Frodo. ‘He’s up at the stables, probably living like a king and eating all the best hay. But he’s earned it!’ 

Lith would have gone right away if he had not told Gandalf he would assist with Bilbo’s work here, if he could. He fidgeted and then sat. ‘What is it you are studying?’

‘Well,’ said Frodo, and beckoned Lith over. ‘We got rather distracted, I’m afraid, but look! These are maps of the old kingdom of Arnor. Elrond says they are copies of maps made over a thousand years ago, before the Shire was there.’

Lith came over, and the hobbits pointed out various features of the land. 

‘I think Bree lies here,’ Lith said, matching up what he knew of the topography and the rivers. ‘And here would be Bag End.’

‘You’re right,’ said Bilbo, leaning in. ‘That is what we had just decided too.’

Merry said, ‘What was the Shire like before hobbits came there, Lith?’

‘I would not know,’ said Lith.’

Bilbo chuckled. ‘Lith is certainly not as old as that, Merry! The North Kingdom fell many years ago. Besides, when we first met you’d never been outside your own lands had you, my lad?’

This latter statement was directed at Lith, so he shook his head. ‘I have travelled to many places now though, and I have been to the Shire several times. It is a very wholesome country. I imagine you will be very pleased to return there’.

Yes,' said Frodo, looking a little sad. 'Yes, I shall be.'

A sudden thought crossed Lith's mind. When he had visited Bilbo in the Shire he had found it a young country, peaceful and quaint, one of simple pleasures and little strife. He had never lingered for very long before, being unwilling to risk staying in one place. But if what Mithrandir and Aragorn said about the way the darkness was closing in around Imladris was true then the hobbits would need a guard on their journey home. Neither Aragorn nor Mithrandir could go with them to protect them, for they had other great tasks to achieve in the coming war. But Lith had no such duties, and no-one needed him. Protecting the hobbits was something he _could_ do. And when they were back in the Shire, there was nothing that prevented him finding somewhere there where he might live, for a while, away from other Elves, and perhaps protect the Shire too, if such a thing was needed. Could he find a place there? Would the hobbits accept such a thing? He had thought Bilbo an anomaly amongst them, but perhaps...

‘Where else have you travelled to, Lith?’ asked Frodo, breaking Lith out of his thoughts. He pulled over another map which showed Eriador. Lith indicated some of the places he had wandered and the hobbits all looked surprisingly envious. He had not thought of his status as a rootless vagabond as something for which others might covet. But, he supposed, exile still offered a few benefactions, for had Lith still a home and a family, duties in war, and the orders of a king to follow, he would never have seen the great cities of Men in the south, walked in the sand-sea of Harad, travelled the green steppes of Rhûn, or smelled the scent of coming spring in Fangorn Forest. 

‘With what did you need assistance?’ Lith asked, when the curiosity and questions of the hobbits was starting to make him feel unnerved. He decided not to say anything yet of his thought to guide the travellers back to the Shire. After all, he did not know how long they would stay in Imladris. When they next made mention of their home, he would offer his aid.

‘Ah, well there are a number of very old texts that I have been searching through,’ said Bilbo, rummaging around in the stacks of paper. ‘Background for my book, you see. And I was hoping-- ah ha! Yes, I was hoping we could go over some translations. I have made a name for myself as a scholar, of course, but the opinion of a native speaker never hurts. What do you know of Quenya?’

Lith glanced at the papers and books, cautiously. ‘Nothing,’ Lith said. ‘It is not used in-- in the land where I was raised.’

Bilbo clapped a hand to his head. ‘Of course!’ he said. ‘And I was forgetting that Sindarin would not be your cradle-tongue either. Well, never mind that now.’

Frodo and Merry were listening in with interest. ‘What do you speak then, Lith?’ said Merry. ‘I mean, how many Elvish tongues are there? I thought it was all just _Elvish_.’

‘Oh, several,’ said Bilbo, saving Lith from giving an answer that would veer far too close to all of which he was not permitted to speak. ‘I have studied a number of them. I heard a lot of talk in the Green Tongue when I was in Mirkwood, of course, though I have not been able to learn much of it since.’

‘I am no scholar. I fear in this task I will be of little aid to you,’ Lith said.

Bilbo waved a hand. ‘Well, we shan’t know until we try! There’s plenty of work to be done on the Sindarin texts, so let’s start there.’

They spent several peaceful hours as Bilbo worked through his documents. Mithrandir was right in that many were long lays of poetry or accounts of old histories which Bilbo happily read aloud. Generally the work required little involvement on Lith's part and his attention was held more by the tales themselves than the nuances of the language, but at times Bilbo would read out a passage and Lith could offer an alternate wording or correction. Frodo seemed to follow along eagerly to their talk, but Merry clearly had a greater interest in the maps and books of herblore than in the discussion of ancient histories and, as he cheerfully announced, he knew nothing of Elvish speech at all.

After a while Bilbo paused to organise his notes, so Lith looked to Frodo across the desk. The hobbit was reading from a great blue-bound book and making notes in the Common Tongue on a parchment. Lith asked what he worked on and Frodo slid his notes over for Lith to see.

‘Erestor gave me these accounts of the Last Alliance,’ said Frodo. ‘I wanted to know more about Gil-galad, and the Siege of Barad-dûr. Gil-galad was a very great king, wasn’t he?’

‘I do not know,’ said Lith. He barely glanced at the paper Frodo held out before handing it back.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Frodo, suddenly dismayed. ‘I forgot that you were a Wood-elf and so many of them were killed in the battle--’

‘I am not a Wood-elf, but I am certainly not distressed,’ Lith was quick to reassure him. ‘But I was not born then, so I know little of that time. And as for your notes, I cannot read them.’

‘Just as well you’re not trying to decipher Pip’s penmanship then!’ said Merry, cheerfully, and then paused when he seemed to realise that was not what Lith meant. ‘You...you can’t read?’

‘I can read Sindarin runes, well enough,’ said Lith, quickly, sure that this latest fault would compound on his ignorance of the tongue of the High Elves to make them think him completely lacking in both education and wits. ‘But the characters of the Common Tongue are unfamiliar to me. The languages of Men seem to us to change so rapidly that only those responsible for trade or bearing messages ever spent the time to learn them.’

‘But you speak Westron so very well!’ protested Frodo.

‘I had a few words in the tongue taught to me in case of chance encounters with Woodsmen,’ Lith said. ‘Mithrandir later instructed me further, though I was a poor student and had little patience to learn.’ 

Certain that these clever hobbits would view his lack of talent and scholarly ambition with disdain, Lith was relieved to see only curiosity and eagerness on their faces. They did not seem to judge his confession as a sign of ignorance at all.

‘What of your own language?’ said Bilbo, curiously. ‘The Green Tongue? I have been searching for books in the dialect for years but Elrond tells me there are none.’

‘There is no written form of Silvan tongue,’ Lith said. ‘There is no need to write it down. If written transcription must be given, Sindarin is used.’

‘Well,’ said Bilbo, sitting back. ‘That is quite remarkable.’ He seemed quite delighted with the discovery. 

‘No written words at all?’ said Frodo.

‘No books?’ said Merry. ‘But how do you keep track of everything?’

‘All lore and knowledge is passed on through song and speech.’

‘Fascinating,’ said Bilbo. ‘You know, I didn’t properly start learning Elvish until I got home from the Mountain, so all that was rather lost on me when I went through Mirkwood. Perhaps you could make up for my lost opportunity, Lith, and teach me more of the Silvan tongue now? I’d be delighted, if you have the time.’

Lith shifted, uncomfortably. ‘I would like to,’ he said. ‘Seldom do I speak that tongue now, except with Mithrandir. But there are other Wood-elves now come to the Valley. They might serve you better.’

Bilbo looked up, eyebrows raised. It seemed he had not heard of the new arrivals. ‘Wood-elves?’

‘You remember the Mirkwood Elves from the Council, Bilbo?’ Frodo said. ‘They returned to Rivendell the night before last.’

‘I heard there was an accident while they were crossing the mountains,’ Merry offered. ‘Some of them are terribly knocked about, and Elrond and his healers are looking after them.’

‘Well, now.’ Bilbo looked at Lith. ‘Do they know you are here?’ he said. 

Lith hesitated. ‘I do not know,’ he said. ‘I have not yet seen them.’

Frodo and Merry were looking between the two of them, clearly uncertain what was happening. Lith quickly changed the subject before either could ask more. 

‘I should like to learn the written letters of Common Speech,’ he said. ‘Mithrandir tried to teach me before but now I can see there may be times when such knowledge is useful. Aragorn wrote me a letter once that I could not read; if he were to do so again I would know what it says.’

‘How about a trade then?’ proposed Frodo.

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Bilbo, who looked remarkably pleased with the concept and said let slip nothing further about Wood-elves or Mirkwood. ‘I can teach you to read and write Westron, and in return you can tell us something of your tongue, any tales or songs that take your fancy.’’

‘Well, I for one am doing nothing more until after lunch at least!’ said Merry, standing up and stretching. ‘The quirks of various languages or other are quite over my head. Besides, I like history as much as the next hobbit—well, maybe not as much as you two—but sitting hunched over all this old paper all morning has put a crick in my back.’

‘Actually, I could do with a breath of fresh air, as well,’ said Frodo. ‘How about Merry and I go to see about a bite to eat?’

‘Certainly, certainly,’ said Bilbo. ‘You two go on ahead; we shall catch up with you.’

A knowing look passed between the hobbits, and then the younger two went out, leaving Lith and Bilbo alone.

‘Are you sure you are quite alright, my lad?’ said Bilbo, as soon as they had gone. ‘I can’t imagine Mirkwood elves are very pleased to see you here again.’

‘I should not think they would be,’ Lith agreed. ‘But so far I have avoided them.’

'What are you going to do? How long will they be staying here?'

'Some time, I think,' said Lith. 'But Lady Arwen said I did not have to leave the Valley.'

Bilbo snorted. 'No, I should think not! What about Gandalf, what did he say about it all? And the Dúnadan?' 

'They say they do not wish for me to leave. I am staying with Mithrandir now. But, Bilbo…' Lith lowered his voice and sat down on the floor by Bilbo’s feet so they were closer in height. 'Aragorn and Lady Arwen. They both _know_.'

'Know?' said Bilbo. 'Know what, my lad?'

'About me. They…' Lith gestured roughly towards himself.

'Ah,' said Bilbo. 'About where you came from, you mean? Yes, lad, I think they’ve known for a while. But to be honest I never understood why it was such a big secret in the first place. I can’t see why you have to go around pretending not to be who you are, just to keep old Thranduil happy. What difference does it make?’

Lith was about to protest but Bilbo waved a hand.

‘I know, I know, _it’s forbidden_ and so on. But I still say it’s a shame and a waste. ‘Legolas’ was such a nice name. You know, I’d still call you Legolas, if you like?’

‘No!’ cried Lith, shocked. He quickly hushed the hobbit. ‘No, do not even say it, I beg you. Lith is the name Mithrandir gave to me; I have no desire for any other. Please, Bilbo.’

Bilbo grumbled a little, and then he stood up, leaning heavily on his stick. ‘Well, as long as it’s what you want,’ he said, patting Lith’s shoulder. ‘And of course Lith is a good name, too. It sounds almost halfway between being Elvish and being hobbitish to my mind. But if those other Elves start causing you any trouble, you tell me straight away. I’ll put them to rights.’

Lith laughed a little at that, and unfolded himself up off the floor. ‘What would you do, Bilbo?’ he said, fondly. ‘There are rather more of them than you, warriors all, and most stand at least twice your height!’

‘Tsk,’ said Bilbo, and beckoned. Lith came to his side and they went slowly out of the room together. ‘I stood face to snout with Smaug the Magnificent once upon a time, and I know a good deal more now than I did then. A few Wood-elves don’t frighten me, my lad. Don’t you let them make you feel unwelcome.’

‘I shall try not to,’ Lith agreed, with a small smile, and they walked out together. Though the bell for noon had rung some time ago, Lith was surprised that Bilbo did not head towards the dining hall, but away out towards the gardens. Bilbo led the way through the house and Lith walked beside him, matching his pace to the hobbit’s slow steps. 

‘Where are we going, Bilbo?’

‘The others have a little surprise for you,’ said Bilbo. ‘We’re to meet them.’

He led Lith down the stairs and out into the sun. The sky above was cloudless and deep blue, and though December was marching on there was still warmth to the air where the sheltered valley was nestled between the mountain slopes. ‘Tell me,’ said Bilbo as they took a path into the woods. ‘How is that arm of yours now? I hear Master Elrond has been looking at it for you.’

Lith stretched out his arm to show Bilbo. Though hidden beneath his sleeve and glove, bandages still covered the arm from elbow to fingertip and stiff braces fore and aft held his hand and wrist unflexing. ‘I do not know yet,’ Lith said. ‘It must heal, they say. But I think it may be a little better. The pain is less.’

‘Good!’ exclaimed Bilbo, with satisfaction. ‘Elrond is the best healer in Middle-earth, they say. If anyone could fix it for you, it is he. Ah, look. Here are the others!’

They had rounded a little stand of alders and stepped through a stone arbour into an open glade within the trees, carpeted with red leaves. In the centre, Sam and Pippin were sitting on a blanket on the ground, lifting plates and dishes out of a basket. Pippin stood up and waved.

‘Hullo!’ he called. ’Just in time. I wanted to start without you but Sam wouldn’t let me..’

‘What is this?’ Lith asked, as he helped Bilbo sit down on the blanket. 

‘It’s a picnic, of course!’

‘We were thinking, Lith,’ said Sam, ‘that it’s a shame you don’t get to sit down and have proper dinner on account of not liking to be inside. So we thought we’d bring dinner to you, so to speak.’

‘It was all their idea,’ said Bilbo, when Lith looked at him. He was spreading a blanket over his shoulders. ‘Now, my lads; what have you got for us? And where are the other fellows?’

‘Frodo and Merry went to fetch the beer,’ said Pippin. ‘But as for food, Sam and I got a feast from Malacar; there’s a good pork pie, as well as a fresh loaf, roasted beans, dried fruits, some kind of cheese with wild garlic in, little eggs, buttered parsnips, and because we were very polite to Malacar, honey cakes _and_ seed cake.’

They all looked at Lith, waiting for his reaction. 

‘This is…’ began Lith, and then stopped. ‘You did this for me?’

‘Of course!’ said Sam, as if it was nothing of significance at all.

Bilbo was about to ask another question when Lith heard voices through the trees, and he turned to look. 

‘They should be just down here!’ he heard Frodo’s voice say, and then Frodo and Merry were coming through the arbour carrying ale jugs, and with them was an Imladrin Elf that Lith did not know, a Sinda with black hair and rich hazelnut skin. Lith stood up, quickly. 

‘There he is,’ said Frodo to the Elf, gesturing to Lith as he and Merry led the ellon over. Warily, Lith watched as the newcomer approached and then stopped some distance in front of him. The Elf stared at Lith’s scars for a long moment.

‘Good day,’ said the Elf at last, managing to force his gaze back to meet Lith’s. ‘Cúron is my name. I have been looking around for you for some days but heard the halflings would most likely know your location; I see I was not misinformed.’

Lith nodded cautiously. Cúron’s eyes flicked to Lith’s scars again but then recollected himself and held out a package. 

‘I am afraid we could do little for the boots Lord Aragorn left with us,’ he said. ‘The leather was in quite distressing condition and could not be repaired. But using their size I have made you these replacements, which I hope will suit. If you need something hardier, you must come back to the cobblers and ask.’

Lith took the package cautiously, but before he could say anything, Cúron stepped back, smiled a trifle awkwardly, bid them all a _good day_ again, and departed. When Lith opened the cloth wrapping, it was to find a pair of soft grey boots, simple but well-made. He slipped them on and they came up a hands-length above the ankle and when tightened with cords, fitted well.

‘Very nice,’ said Pippin airlily, as if he had some authority on the matter of footwear. Lith just nodded in response, overwhelmed. There was more to this gift, far more, than replacing a worn-out possession, or even protecting his feet from stones and sticks of the forest. Though Lith had come here to Imladris of his own free will and did not regret it, he could not deny that this place had begun to feel like a cage too, for all it’s ethereal beauty. He did not like feeling trapped. But now, like the healing of his arm or the weakening of the herb addiction, having his own boots again was another arrow in the quiver of his self-reliance, another step to restoring his lost freedom. Lith could leave Imladris right now if he chose to, in just the time it would take for him to pick up his pack and walk out through the gates. He needed nothing but what he could carry, would take nothing but what nature could provide. He would pass unseen and leave no trace behind. 

But the closer he got to breaking free, it seemed yet the more rooted down in Imladris he became, and the more entangled in the peril of these strange times. Mithrandir. Aragorn. These guileless and kindly and wholly unexpected hobbits. And there was also the growing shadow, and the fear of the unseen enemy that lay beyond the gates. The bonds that held Lith here now were not physical any more, but bonds they remained, and grew stronger with each day. And now this strange interaction with the cobbler Cúron, an Elf who had no reason to treat Lith with friendliness or even base civility, hinted at something even more. Perhaps Aragorn really did speak the truth. Perhaps the Elves of Imladris _could_ come to accept Lith after all, and if they could, why not also his own people? Perhaps, one day, there was even a way he could earn forgiveness. 

There was a strange hot weight in the pit of Lith's chest like a red coal. Mithrandir had first put there, Aragorn had stoked it, and now with the aid of Elrond, the hobbits, the Lady Arwen, now it was burning up tight between his ribs. It scalded him with its heat and pressure, but he welcomed the hurt of it nonetheless. He thought it might be an ember of hope.

Headless of his inner turmoil, Merry caught Lith’s sleeve and tugged on it until the Elf sat down between Merry and Sam. Frodo began pouring beer into mugs while dishes were handed around. ‘Thank you,’ Lith said to them all, a feeble expression of his gratitude. 

‘The weather might be on the chilly side for an outdoor feast,’ Pippin said, perhaps thinking Lith referred to the food. ‘But that just makes it more fun. And don’t you think food eaten outside always tastes better, Lith?’

‘I do not know. I have never thought about it.’

Pippin handed Lith a wooden plate piled with food, and soon a merry meal was in full swing. The hobbits seemed happy to talk and eat at the same time, and quite content to continue to do both until the food was gone. The food was delicious, but it could have been a meal of roots and rainwater and still have been one of the best dinners Lith could remember with the hobbits at his side.

After the meal was done, Lith found himself feeling rather overwhelmed, and felt the need to part company from the hobbits for a while. He found them utterly enchanting for their simple delight and warm hearts, but as easy as their friendship was, it could also be loud and boisterous, particularly when they had a tendency to all talk at once. Lith needed solitude for a little while, and the quiet of the woods, to rebalance himself after a morning of their company. Bilbo, he thought, understood.

So Lith bid the hobbits goodbye for now, put his face to the sun and went in search of new trees. He wandered along through the forest that grew thickly here down to the edge of the river. The rushing churn of the waters filled the air all around; the distant cascades were a white billow of cloud, and from his left a hundred tiny trickling streams glittered in the pale sun, weaving through the Elven trees to join the great river in its deep cleft below. The very air felt alive, and beneath the rushing waters and the sigh of the wind, the trees hummed low in their sleepy winter song, like the world was breathing one long slow breath into a cavernous chest, holding it steady to breathe out again when spring came. The melody of the forest was enchanting, and soon Lith felt his own voice moved to song in answer; a rarity in these times. He scrambled up into an old beech, leafless and stately in its winter bareness to murmur along to its slow song, and though it was beautiful and intoxicating, Lith was not so lost in his own head yet that he did not recollect Elrond’s prohibition on climbing, and so he stayed in the lower branches.

A flicker of white passed overhead as a chatter of fieldfares settled into a hoary yew, picking at the bright red berries. A pine marten, sleeping the daylight hours away in an abandoned squirrel drey in the tree, poked his head out to investigate the Elven intruder. He nosed across Lith’s shoulders, little claws scratching as he searched the impudent visitor for anything edible. Lith brushed a hand over the silken fur even as he laughed at the creature's antics and sang them into his song. The pine marten sniffed at Lith, unimpressed, and scampered back into the hollow, and curled up back to sleep. Lith turned back to watch the birds, at peace.

Someone grabbed him from behind. 

The ambush took Lith utterly unaware; he had heard nothing, sensed nothing. He was yanked backwards, all but paralysed in startled surprise, and could not have moved to save himself even had his arms not been trapped immovably at his sides. He lost his balance on the branch and then both Lith and his assailant were plummeting straight down to the forest floor. Still stunned, the drop managed to shake Lith’s instincts back to life and he rolled, absorbing the impact with the ground. But he was barely up on his feet before there was motion all around, knocking him down and hands grabbing for him, twisting his wrists back behind his back. He kicked and fought but the attackers were strong, lightning fast and utterly silent as Lith was hauled back up and held firm. 

Above their heads, the birds still chattered gaily. If the fact that these attackers had caught a Silvan unaware in a tree was not been enough to tell Lith their identities, the undisturbed song of the birds did. He was caught, and there was no escape. The Wood-elves had found him.

There were three of them. Lith could not see the face of the Elf that held his arms, but he was immensely strong and so tall Lith thought it could be none other than Míon, who had towered over everyone else in the regiment. Ahead were two more Wood-elves, Iorthon Bregolion, and an elleth of the east marches named Spennathûl. Where the rest were, Lith did not know, but he was in trouble enough; all three were armed with sharp knives at their hips, and Iorthon also wore a sword. Lith fought against the arms that held him but he could not break free, and Spennathûl easily sidestepped Lith’s wild kick and snatched Lith’s own knife from his belt. She darted back, and then handed the knife to Iorthon. He glanced at the heavy mannish blade with derision.

Lith stopped struggling and went still. The Elves watched Lith with cold eyes and no-one spoke. 

‘Let me go,’ Lith said at last. ‘Please.’ His throat was tight with fear. 

The Wood-elves gave no answer but their faces were portraits of fear and icy disdain, for all that they themselves were much battered and bruised. The right arm of Iorthon was splinted and Spennathûl had a healing cut across her brow, disappearing into the honey-brown of her braids. All reminders, no doubt, of the Wood-elves almost fatal attempt to cross the mountain pass. 

‘Let me go!’ Lith said, as the silence went on.

 _‘Why did thou come here, oathbreaker?’_ Iorthon said at last in their own tongue. 

_‘Iorthon,’_ Lith said. _‘I swear to thee, I do no harm to any--’_

The grip on his wrists tightened, and his left arm was burning. _‘Speak not our tongue, villain!’_ snapped Míon from behind him.

‘I am sorry,’ Lith said, hurriedly, in Sindarin. ‘I do not wish for trouble, please. Let me go, you shall not see me again.’

 _‘Thou promised that thee would never again enter Elvish lands,’_ said Spennathûl, severely. 

‘I am here with Lord Elrond’s permission,’ Lith said. 

Iorthon made a sharp motion with Lith’s knife. _‘Elrond!’_ he said, and the tone was dismissive, scornful. _‘We do not know how thou beguiled so great a lord into believing thy false innocence, but he would not be the first that thou hast so deceived. But after all our warnings Elrond still will not cast thee out. We must repair this wrong in our own fashion, it seems. That he would let one such as thee go around his lands unguarded is beyond belief. And armed too!’_

Iorton turned in disgust and hurled Lith’s knife away; the blade flew up in a silver arc and fell beyond the edge of the gorge, disappearing into the river, far below. 

‘I did not--’ Lith began, but they were not listening.

 _‘Thou hast supped at his table!’_ Spennathûl cried. _‘Thou hast talked with his children and made merry with his guests! It seems it is well that we returned when we did. Though we suffered much grief and hardship at the pass, at least some good can come of it. We can ensure the folk here are safe from thee, nameless one.’_

‘They are safe,’ Lith said, low. ‘I will do them no harm, nor to any; I swear it--’

 _‘Thou swearest?_ ’ laughed Iorthon, and the sound was cold and bitter. ‘ _As if there was any oath you could give that could be trusted. Faithless! No. Elrond has not the courage to enforce this law, so we must. Thou shalt leave this land. Now.’_

‘No,’ breathed Lith. ‘I will not.’

Míon shook him hard, and Lith stumbled. His arm was throbbing with agony where Míon was gripping it, and his eyes watered.

 _‘Thou_ wilt _leave,_ ’ said Iorthon, again. His voice was low and full of dark promise. 

Lith just shook his head, wordless.

 _‘Thou art dangerous,’_ Míon said. _‘False. Without forgiveness._ Leave _.’_

 _‘What of Luinmeord?’_ said Spennathûl. ‘ _Even if thou art no danger to him as thou claim'st, can thou comprehend the pain the sight of thee causes him? He loved thee like a brother! Hast thou not even the heart to spare him that?’_

Lith hesitated. ‘I would do anything for Luinmeord,’ he said. ‘But I just want to live in peace.’

‘Live elsewhere,’ said Iorthon, in Sindarin. ‘Far from any of Elfkind. Go find your peace there, if you deserve any.’

For a moment he thought the change of tongue a softening. ‘But my friends here--’

The blow caught Lith hard across the face. He felt his head snap to the side and then a second blow fell. He staggered and went to one knee as the grip on his arms was suddenly released. He fell forward onto his hands, feeling slick blood well up from a lip split open. He spat onto the ground, dazed. The three Elves were circling him like wolves.

‘Do not do this,’ Lith said. ‘Please.’ 

_‘We do not want to,’_ said Spennathûl. ‘ _We do not even want to be here_ _speaking to thee. Seeing thee, and remembering…’_

‘We will do what we must,’ said Iorthon. ‘You know we will.’

Lith did. He knew well of their tenacity, that they would see through whatever it was they had planned here to its end, but he still did not know what that was. Perhaps they hoped to provoke Lith into a violent attack so they could beg self-defence when they injured him. Maybe they aimed to knock him senseless so they could spirit him away into the night, across the border, and leave him unarmed and helpless somewhere out in the wild. Perhaps they just wanted to take the revenge they felt he owed them, and had no loftier plan than to reflect the suffering Lith had caused back onto him. They were armed and he was not, three of them to him alone, and still Lith knew he was not helpless for he had learned much these last years. He could easily rebreak Iorthon’s arm for example, or snatch up the blade Míon thought hidden in his left boot, slash Spennathûl across the throat...if he wanted to, he could escape them. But only if he fought to kill.

‘I will not fight you,’ Lith said. ‘I gave Lord Elrond my word of good conduct.’

Míon’s next blow caught Lith across the ribs. Lith staggered. 

‘Fight,’ ordered Iorthon.

‘I will not,’ said Lith. Spennathûl knocked him down and he got back up.

‘I will not,’ he said again as he stumbled, reeling from blows and kicks, shielding his arm, head ringing and ringing. He would not fight, he could not, for what was the use in saving himself now by damning himself more? But there would be no rescue either, for who would come? They were deep in the woods; he had told no-one where he was going. The hobbits could do nothing, Mithrandir was busy, Aragorn far away, and who else would intervene in this? It was justice. It was--

‘Well,’ said a voice. It cut through the air, deep and dangerous. ‘There might be good reason why it would take three warriors like yourselves to subdue one unarmed man, but when it’s this wee scrawny wretch, I’m at a loss to think why.’

The Elves stilled. Lith uncurled, lifting his head. Outlined against the bright sky were two figures. One was an _adan._ Lith thought for a moment it was Aragorn but then he realised his error; this man was not tall enough and was broader across the shoulders. The second figure was shorter still, a stout figure, and solid like a pillar of stone. 

‘Care to explain what it is we see here?’ continued Gimli son of Gloin, when no-one answered his challenge. 

‘Leave, _naugol,_ ’ snapped Iorthon, in his broken Westron. ‘This concerns thee not.’ 

Míon moved then, dragging Lith up to his feet and pulling him back by the arm. Lith stumbled, dazed.

‘There I would have to disagree, friend,’ said the man beside Gimli, mildly. Lith recognised him now as the son of Gondor’s steward; he had been at the Council. Boromir was his name. ‘This doesn't look like training-at-arms so much as villainy. We don’t wish to intrude on the business of Elves, but I’d ask you to explain this nonetheless.’

‘A grievance,’ said Iorthon, shortly. ‘Nothing more.’

Gimli planted his feet. ‘I have grievances of my own with that one--’ he said, and pointed at Lith. ‘And have nothing against solving a quarrel with fists, except when one party waylays the other in an isolated spot and outnumbers him three to one. Then we have a little problem of honour.’

‘We care not for the opinions of _naugrim_ or _edain,_ ’ Spennathûl snapped. ‘Go away.’

‘And I’m not particularly taken by honourless Elves,’ growled Gimli, ‘Wood-elves in particular.’

The Wood-elves said nothing to the insult but turned hard gazes on the mortals. Lith shivered with pain in Míon’s grip, feeling blood running down his chin. 

The man Boromir said, evenly, ‘You should walk away, friends.’ He nodded towards Lith. ‘Look at him. He’s had enough. Come, let him go.’

After a long moment of silence, Iorthon at last conceded. It was clear the man and dwarf would not be frightened off, and unless they were willing to fight more guests of Elrond’s house, it would be prudent to let the matter lie. He nodded his head at the others and Lith felt Míon’s grip on his arms disappear and he was pushed forwards. He staggered, free.

‘Now,’ said Boromir. ‘I suggest we all--’

But Lith did not wait to hear more. He leapt up for a branch above his head, pulled himself into the tree canopy above, and fled.

* * *

Lith woke to find Mithrandir leaning over him. For a moment he was quite disoriented until he recognised the familiar walls of the wizard’s study.

‘Easy, easy now,’ said Mithrandir, as Lith quickly sat up from his makeshift bed, bringing his hand to his aching head. He did not know how bruised his face was but given the look in the wizard’s eyes—part concern and part aflame with fiery anger—it probably was not good. Lith kept his left arm close to his chest, and poked his right eye cautiously. The swollen lid already would not open all the way. 

‘What on earth happened?’ said Mithrandir, leaning in. Lith did not answer. The wizard was running his broad fingers across Lith’s head, feeling for cuts and bruises. Lith's skull was sore but he knew it was not split or dented; more than 500 years walking Middle-earth had offered Lith plenty of opportunities to learn how to limit the damage from an unarmed attack, how to roll with kicks and blows so they did the least impact, how to protect his head from the worst injury. That did not mean that it did not hurt.

‘Lith?’ Mithrandir prompted. His voice was icy calm. ‘I’m waiting for an explanation.’

‘I fell out of a tree,’ Lith said.

‘And Beleriand has risen from the sea, wizards can fly and Aragorn is a hobbit,’ retorted the wizard, tersely. He transferred his grip to Lith’s chin and tilted the Elf’s head side to side, now examining his swollen face. ‘Elves do not fall, out of trees or otherwise, so do not lie to me, elfling. Who did this?’

‘I am not lying. I did fall.’

‘And then what? Unless you are going to tell me the tree had fists and boots too.’

Lith didn’t answer. 

‘Well, you haven’t dented your skull at least,’ Mithrandir said. ‘ Let’s see the rest of you.’ Lith did not object and sat patiently as the wizard made a thorough inspection of Lith’s bruised ribs and back, pressing over a dark purple area on his side. As Lith already knew, the wizard would determine that he would ache and be stiff for a few days but would suffer no lasting hurts.

‘Was it Luinmeord?’ said Mithrandir as Lith straightened his shirt and tunic, slowly, one-handed.

‘No.’

‘Then who?’

Lith did not answer, merely curling in around his throbbing arm. Mithrandir clearly saw the pain in the motion and reached out to examine the limb next, but Lith had reached the end of his patience with the prodding and pulled away with a hiss. 

‘Who?’ said Mithrandir again, even more firmly.

‘No-one,’ Lith snapped.

‘So be it,’ said Mithrandir, and there was a dark fire in his eyes. He stood up, knees cracking. ‘Get up, Lith. Come with me. We are going to the healers and then we are going to Elrond. If you will not tell me who assaulted you then you can tell him.’

‘No,’ said Lith. He pulled his knees up, feeling his ribs ache. ‘I do not want to see Lord Elrond. I do not need a healer.’

‘Get up,’ said Mithrandir, and Lith heard just a glimpse of how angry he was. 

'I will not.'

‘This is no time for your stubbornness, child. We are going to see Elrond, and that is the last of it. This cannot be borne.’

'No!' Lith shook his head but then he softened his tone. ‘Please, Mithrandir,’ he said. ‘I do not want to have to talk to anyone else. It will only cause more trouble. I just need sleep, and all will be well in a few days. They must be left alone to think they have won. _Please_ do as I ask.’

The wizard did nothing for a moment, then he stood up and swept to the door. ‘Do not move,’ he snapped, pointing at Lith. Then he went out.

Lith lay back down, miserably. The last thing he wanted was to bring any more attention to this plight, but what could he do? Though he loved the wizard, Mithrandir could be fierce and terrible when roused to anger and sometimes Lith was afraid. He was afraid now that the wizard would go to the Wood-elves and confront them, or that he would bring Elrond here and they’d both stare at him, stern and grave, and it would be terrible. He’d rather take another kick in the ribs. 

But it had not been more than a few minutes before the door opened again and Mithrandir came back in. Despite his angry declaration, it seemed he had decided not to go to Elrond, for he was quite alone and closed the door behind him. Lith was grateful beyond words; he could deal with no more conflict today, which is precicesly what would have happened if Mithrandir had tried to make him talk to Lord Elrond. Mithandir was carrying a tray and as he approached, Lith saw there was a dish of hot steaming water on it, some herbs and white cloth. Mithrandir sat down on the floor in front of Lith, and cast the herbs into the water. He soaked a cloth and gave it to Lith to hold to his eye, and with the other he began to clean the blood from Lith’s face.

Neither of them said anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Though the comparison of the Silvan dialects with their own speech greatly interested the loremasters, especially those of Noldorin origin, little is now known of the Silvan Elvish. The Silvan Elves had invented no forms of writing, and those who learned this art from the Sindar wrote in Sindarin as well as they could" (Unfinished Tales).  
> Completely ignoring the statement in the same book that says the Silvan tongues were probably extinct by end of the Third Age because that's showbiz, baby.
> 
> Thanks for all the comments last week! Really love to hear what you all think. Till next time!


End file.
